


Graffiti

by Mishiman



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Blood and Injury, Dubcon (single instance), Fanart, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Obsessive thoughts, Past Abuse, Recovery, Ryuji says fuck and makes some bad decisions, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-04-23 23:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 145,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishiman/pseuds/Mishiman
Summary: Ryuji and Yusuke deface Madarame's Palace with the art supplies they have on hand.Chapters 1, 6, 13 and 15 are illustrated.





	1. Somewhere to Be

At first, he skulked around Madarame's Palace just because he didn't have a better place to be.

  
Kamoshida's Palace was Ryuji's first, so of course it was different. He'd actually had a stake in that one, for one thing. And when he thought back on it, practically the only thing he could remember was the sheer thudding violence of it all. Just a wash of sensations. Acid colours, his blood pounding in his ears, and the desperation: what it actually felt like to use every last scrap of strength left to beat something into a quivering pulp before it could do the same to you. There'd been no room for thought, and if he had to, if someone held a gun to his head and made him, he'd have to admit that the team was damn lucky that he wasn't the one _expected_ to do the thinking. That's what Morgana and Akira were for. But he had his role, and after the first couple trips, he fell into it without stopping to worry about it further. If Akira pointed at a Shadow, it wasn't his job to question why. It was his job to obliterate it.

  
In the end, they were successful, and then, a few weeks later, a new Palace fell into their lap.

  
Maybe it wasn't fair to say they didn't have a stake in this one, exactly. Now that they'd gotten tangled in with that artist kid, their asses were on the line just like with Kamoshida - the price for failure this time would be a nice long chat with the police, instead of just expulsion. But it was still different. Their team knew the drill now, Yusuke excluded of course. And now that the Palace's ruler was a stranger, someone who hadn't directly fucked with them in the past, it was easy to relax. It wasn't _personal._ When they infiltrated the art museum, he didn't feel the same queasy fury under his skin that he had in the castle. Instead it was almost fun. No, it _was_ fun, and he could see it on Ann's face, too, when she skipped forward in battle and cracked her whip, or on Morgana's when he pored over their map in one of the safe rooms. Akira showed it the most. This was his element. They just all had to pretend that this was work out of respect for Yusuke, since it definitely wasn't fun for him.

  
So when Ryuji poked his head into the art museum alone for the first time, he wasn't afraid. A little amped up, maybe. Wary, because he knew damn well that he couldn't take on a big group of Shadows on his own if they got the drop on him. But not really afraid.

  
It was always nighttime here, somehow. Maybe since it was the Palace of an artist, it was for the 'aesthetic', or whatever Yusuke would say. Ryuji didn't get that shit and knew he never would. But it did make for a lot of dark corners, where the artificial lighting didn't reach, and it wasn't as hard to melt into them as he thought it would be. In fact it was so easy to slip past the Shadows masquerading as guards and museum staff that it felt wrong. He kept waiting for the punchline, as though they were all just giving him a false sense of security so they could really pile up on him later, but it never came.

  
He started to strut a bit, thinking his stealth had improved, but that couldn't be the real reason. Not the whole reason, anyway. Maybe it had more to do with the fact that they usually infiltrated as such a large group. Probably Ann's fault, really. Her Panther catsuit was red, not black like Ryuji's and Akira's outfits, and she had these noisy clicky heels on top of it; she _could_ tiptoe, but she didn't always remember to. Yusuke could have been partially to blame too, of course. His suit was mostly dark, but those boots, shoulders and mask stood out in the shadows like a white flag, not to mention his stupid fluffy tail.

  
Although he did have the right sort of moves from day one. Ryuji had to admit that it had taken him a lot more practice to get as slinky-quiet as Yusuke was right off the bat.

  
After a certain point, it didn't matter if he'd really gotten better at sneaking or not, because he finally tripped up and came face to... face? with a Shadow as he rounded a corner. One of the ones with a nightstick and a bigass flashlight. He clenched his fists around his metal pipe until his gloves squeaked, wound up, and nearly fell flat on his face when he had nowhere to send that momentum, because the Shadow went right past and kept going. There was even a little breeze on his face as it went - that's how close it was.

  
"The fuck... ?" he muttered. And that should have been a fatal mistake too. Usually that would have been enough for the thing to cock its head and follow the sound of his voice, as he and Akira had confirmed on more than one occasion in the past. But the Shadow kept going, waving its flashlight back and forth as if to see by its light with the eyes it didn't have.

  
Even if they didn't have any visible eyes or ears, it had never seemed to matter before. The Shadows had always managed to pick up their presence just fine if their team laid a step wrong, or if they were caught out away from cover. So unless he'd managed to find the only deaf and blind Shadow in the whole museum, it could mean only one thing. They must have gotten used to him.

  
He tested it. Clanging his pipe against the glossy waxed floor until his muscles ached from the vibrations and he'd left a big ugly spiderweb crater didn't do it. Waving his hand in front of a museum tour guide's face and snatching away her clipboard didn't do it. Not even destroying the exhibits did it. He crunched his pipe through a display case and fumbled around through the pebbles of plexiglass until he grabbed up the art piece - some little carved doodad, a man on a horse maybe - and ground it to pieces beneath his heel. When he glanced up, ready for a fight, he caught a Shadow looking at him. Maybe. Who could really tell what they were looking at. But instead of turning on the spotlight and chasing him down, it just turned away, like it had decided Ryuji was below its paygrade.

  
It got hard to stay away after that.

  
Before, he'd spent his afternoons on track shit. If not actual practice, then hitting the gym for conditioning. Jogging through his neighbourhood for endurance. If it was a rest day, then he was scrolling through fitness forums for nutrition regimens.

  
Broken leg kind of put a damper on all that. Not to mention there no longer being a track team to go back to once it healed. Suddenly his manga and his phone were everything he had to take up his afternoons. The idea of picking up his training again, even just for himself, made his guts roil until all he could taste was copper. He gave it up. He seethed at himself for letting all his work go to waste, for letting his body get slower and losing the strength and definition he'd spent hours at the gym for; but he couldn't do anything about it, either, because digging out his running shoes and workout clothes from his closet just made him think of Kamoshida. So he seethed, alone, and spent his afternoons doing the bare minimum to get through school and not much else.

  
Then Akira came, and his afternoons were full again.

  
It wasn't just Thief shit, either. They'd go for ramen, and he'd justify the richness of it to himself by racing Akira to the train station. They'd hit the arcade, and he'd justify the hours of inactivity by making sure they'd get a solid workout in at the gym next time - and they did, because somehow, training was okay again, if Akira was with him. They'd sit on their asses and play games on Akira's tinyass TV, eating snacks and not moving much more than their thumbs on the controllers, and he had no justification for that. He finally had to admit to himself that he was spending time with Akira because he wanted a friend. Because he was lonely.

  
But that was okay. Akira was the transfer student. He didn't _have_ anybody else. It wasn't a hardship, exactly, to show him the ramen place, or the arcade, but that didn't mean Ryuji didn't also give himself a little pat on the back every time he went out of his way to be nice to him. It felt good to be the one helping instead of the one asking for it. Kamoshida's whole Palace was nothing _but_ Akira putting his life on the line for Ryuji and Ann and the entire volleyball team to boot, but that didn't mean Ryuji had to be like that outside of it.

  
So he started to take it for granted. At the sound of the last bell, he always dumped his books and shit into his bag at lightning speed just so he could station himself in the hallway, waiting with bated breath for Akira to come out of his class to tell him what their afternoon was going to be like. It got to be like he was some fucking dog waiting for its master to come home. It didn't bug him when the answer was yes, when Akira still had time for him. It didn't even bug him when the answer got to be no more often than not - when Akira told him, always apologetic, that he'd already signed his time away to Ann. Or that he was going to head to the flower shop and make shitty bouquets for pocket money. Or that he'd literally rather be unconscious on the creepy-hot doctor's examining table in Yongen than eating ramen with Ryuji.

  
It did bug him when the answer was always no, followed by the excuse of the day. A solid week of no and he stopped asking altogether. He started hitting the gym or the arcade by himself instead, like it made no difference to him whether Akira came with him or not. He had to pretend that it didn't hurt because that was the only way he could still face Akira during their infiltrations. But it did hurt. Then Akira stopped chatting with him, too, except for their Thief shit in the group chat, and that did it. He couldn't focus on arcade games or even his workouts, now, and that was especially strange - he'd always been able to mute his brain with exercise in the past. It wasn't like how he couldn't pick his training back up because of Kamoshida, this time; now he kept scrolling through his old messages like he was addicted, barely sticking his phone in his pocket before he had it out again, waiting for a new notification from Akira.

  
So he gave up on his old shit entirely. No more arcade, no more gym, no more ramen place. He swept his books into his bag at a normal pace - what would be the point of hurrying? - and he didn't linger in the hallway. He rode the train home, poked his head into their group chat just enough that his absence wouldn't be noted, and flipped through his manga without retaining most of it. Then he went to bed and started it all over again in the morning.

  
At school, he always felt like they were staring at him, somehow. Everybody else had someone they were just dying to talk to the second the bell rang. The guy at the locker one over, or one of the girls in the same club. Not him. On days when the teacher didn't call on him, and when there was nothing Thief-related to do, he sometimes went the entire day without speaking one word until his mom got home. On a day like that, one of the students in his class stayed behind to ask the teacher a question about that day's assignment, and he caught himself being jealous of _that._ Fuck. He knew that if he'd talked to that same teacher about the same goddamn thing, he'd get an honest answer, since it was related to the curriculum, but he'd also get a cagey sort of look along with it. Like the teacher was half expecting Ryuji to haul off and hit him like he'd done to Kamoshida last year. So he didn't ask questions in class.

  
When it came down to it, he could pick from two options. Feel pathetic out in the open in the hallway at school, watching people laughing around him while he waited for Akira to turn him down, or feel pathetic in secret at home, waiting for a chat notification from Akira that wouldn't come.

  
Then, after dragging himself home after an infiltration, he'd thought of a third option.

  
After a day or two to think about it, he'd framed it to himself as training, at first. He'd known he couldn't take on a big mob of Shadows by himself, but he sort of pictured himself cornering a little one all on its own, maybe. He'd imagined himself leading the small ones away and picking them off, one by one. Sort of strategic. He'd realized how shit for brains stupid that was as soon as he'd gotten inside, of course. One good hit and he'd be knocked down, without any of his teammates to cover him or heal, and that would be it.

  
He must've been feeling real morbid that day. Crouched in a dark corner near the entrance of the museum, just barely out of sight of the first Shadow he'd spotted, he'd let his mind go down a rabbit hole and wondered where your body would turn up if you died in a Palace for real. He'd supposed he'd be laid out on the sidewalk in front of Madarame's shack, if anything. Something nasty for Yusuke to find on his doorstep when he left for school in the morning. He'd pictured his mom having to go down to the station and identify his body. Then he'd wondered if he'd wind up looking like the psychotic breakdown victims had in the news, the ones with their eyes rolled back to just the whites and their mouths dripping black blood.

  
It was enough to make him leery of picking a fight with a Shadow, even the weak ones towards the entrance, but not enough to make him go home.

  
Just because it wasn't great for practicing his swings with his pipe or his accuracy with his shotgun, didn't mean the time he spent there was wasted. He did improve his sneaking, after all, at least until he wore out the Shadows' fear of him and they wouldn't charge him anymore.

  
The extra weird part about that, though, was that it stuck. When he came back the next day, the floor had lost the crater he'd given it, as he'd expected. And the display case was shiny and new again, not a single scratch visible in the plexi. But the Shadows looked straight through him. He tested it again, making sure he had a straight shot back to the entrance in case he needed it before planting himself directly in a Shadow's path.

  
The thing walked around him. It was like it remembered.

  
His good for nothing brain piped up and told him he'd better make sure to pass this on to Akira and Morgana, stat. He was getting all excited about finally having some new info for the team - some way to be _useful,_ really - before he remembered that he couldn't tell anyone he'd come here, not even the other Thieves. They'd think he was losing it. The cat would probably encourage Akira to kick him off the team if he showed such 'reckless behaviour,' or whatever words he'd use to really mean that Ryuji was stupid, that he was untrustworthy, that he wasn't worth taking a risk on.

  
That was okay, though. It would just have to be his little secret.

  
The place very quickly went from being creepy, like a gigantic mansion filled with shuffling ghosts, to something that was closer to just... sort of interesting. There was no sightseeing when Akira led them through, using only the most efficient route, and Yusuke probably didn't really want that either, when he was on the team; but, alone, Ryuji could take as long as he wanted, now that the Shadows had given him a free pass. Art wasn't his thing, so the colours and shapes just went on by.

He did like peeping on the Shadows, though. The guards were tough, or thought they were tough. Their chitchat was like the dialogue from a gritty cop show, and soon he'd picked up enough of it to piece together something resembling a plot.

  
A lot of it was about 'Lord Madarame', obviously, and a lot of it was about the Thieves. Within this cognitive reality, the guards seemed to see them as part sophisticated art thieves, part malicious thugs who were out to murder Madarame, and part mutinous rebels who were masterminding a plan to betray and overthrow Madarame with Yusuke as his replacement. Pretty soap opera, overall. It even had B plots involving named characters and everything - he picked out someone named Sayuri a few times, and a couple others kept coming up, too. They might have been other Shadows, or maybe they were cognitive whatevers; who knew. He couldn't follow that part without knowing more. The Shadows' plotlines ran together and conflicted with themselves within the same breath, as though the Shadows were two bots talking to each other instead of two figments of an old man's imagination. If that's what they were.

  
It wasn't something for someone like him to figure out. His leg was starting to cramp up from squatting behind a corner as he eavesdropped on the Shadows, so he moved on.

  
He liked it more and more every time he went. It felt a lot better to be active and doing something than moping in his room about how some dude he met six weeks ago would rather have a part time job or get in a model's pants than work out with him.

  
He knew that wasn't the whole story even as he thought it, and kept thinking it. For one thing, it felt like he'd known Akira for a hell of a lot longer than six weeks. He thought of him more frequently than he would anyone else he'd know for that long, too.

  
But Akira had his own shit to deal with. Ryuji had already started thinking of him as his best friend, but that didn't mean Ryuji was his. Sometimes that was just how it had to be. So it was easier for him to reduce Akira down to 'the transfer student' or 'that guy I just met' because that turned him down in his head. Reduced his importance back down to Ann and Morgana's level, like turning a volume knob. At least, that was how he pictured it.

  
It kept happening, too. He kept hopping on the train straight from school to Madarame's shack to wash Akira out of his head; a bonus was that he already knew his phone wouldn't work in here, which kept him from checking it obsessively. But over the course of half a dozen visits, he'd gotten more comfortable, and now Akira was on his mind again.

  
He was probably too comfortable, honestly.

  
His new favourite spot was this little nook between the entrance of the women's washroom and a corner where the two walls met. It was just bare floor there, but he'd found out a couple visits ago that the cushions of the colourful couches towards the entrance of the museum just ripped right off in one piece - they were only held on with velcro. So he swiped two of them, a Shadow's blank disc of a face tracking the noise but never lifting a finger to stop him, and stuck them under his arms to take back to his corner. It was obvious how pointless sneaking was now. He made a beeline for his destination and if push came to shove, the Shadows got out of _his_ way. Not the other way around.

  
His corner - and that was how he thought of it: 'his' corner - was pretty small, but he liked it that way. The couch cushions were close to the size of a futon each, so he made himself a little nest. Their ends curled up enough to cradle his head and back if he scooched down, and if he did that, he could brace the soles of his boots flat against the opposite wall, too.

  
Every time, he did everything in his power to stop thinking about Akira. He focused on the Shadows instead. They should have been the easiest thing to keep his thoughts trained on, since he could hear one shuffling around on the other side of the wall he rested his head against, and he could see another doing a little circuit on the opposite end of the large room he was in. The problem was that they didn't do anything for him when they looked like this.

  
The forms they took in battle were closer. These things out here were like faceless robots with prerecorded lines fed to them; he'd watched them enough to know that most of them kept to their own little routes, and he'd listened to them enough for the lines to start to repeat. Sometimes they remixed things with one another, like they were trying to keep the Madarame soap opera going for each other's sake, but for him, their novelty was starting to wear thin.

  
Shadows in battle were different. After Akira peeled the face off of a security guard or tour guide, all kinds of crazy shit spilled out. He thought he recognized some yokai from TV, and some were maybe angels or Greek gods. Shit like that. The rest baffled him. Creepy dude in a loincloth with a boomerang. A grinning beast with perfectly round dead coin eyes and a snake for a tail. That kind of thing. He couldn't have come up with these things in a million years on his own.

  
It wasn't just what they looked like. They _talked,_ and it was real conversation. That was the difference. When Akira got things down to the wire - when he had the Shadows in his crosshairs - that was when they got real chatty. The beast things cringed in surrender. The girl-shaped ones flirted. The manly ones sort of blustered, trying to flatter without being too obvious about it.

  
For the most part, Akira gave the order to shoot no matter what the thing said. If they let them all go, they'd never get anywhere, after all. But he'd toy with them, sometimes. Apparently just for his own amusement, because it usually wouldn't go anywhere that the Shadow liked. But he let them think they had a chance. When he got cruel like that, Ryuji sometimes thought he'd make for a good cat, at least as convincing as Morgana. Not that he'd ever say so.

  
It was the girl-shaped ones that Akira would go back and forth with the longest. When he put on Joker like that, all at once, he got suave as shit. He and the girl thing would trade one liners back and forth until it got pretty fucking uncomfortable standing next to him, and if the looks Ann shot him behind Akira's back were any indication, he wasn't alone in thinking so.

  
Not that the Shadows ever noticed anyone but Akira. The rest of them might as well have been invisible when it came time to negotiate. Akira kept it going with the girl things the longest, but even they got sick of dirty talk eventually. Each time, she'd get down to brass tacks, demanding a deal, and each time, that Joker grin would come out just before he'd blow her away.

  
If it were Ryuji doing the talking, the negotiation might end differently.

  
He palmed himself roughly through his Metaverse suit, trying to get himself going. He'd always liked how it felt on the inside, smooth as anything, so that wasn't the problem. He stripped off his gloves and went back at it with his bare hand on the other side of the material instead, but didn't have much more luck. Maybe his cock just wasn't interested in half-remembered one liners from girl-shaped things that he hadn't even had the time to get a good look at. Akira led them through battle at the same clip he did the rest of the museum. No time for sightseeing.

  
There was something he hadn't tried yet, though.

  
He took his pipe with him, just in case, and crept into the women's washroom just around the corner from where he'd been laying on the floor. The lady was still in there, shuffling with what only looked like intent - he'd already spied on her for minutes at a time on previous visits, and she never actually _used_ the washroom. Maybe she was in here to check on the supplies and write down the numbers on her clipboard.

He kind of felt bad for her. The other Shadows got to be out in the open, with the exhibits, and some of them met up to chat with each other. Sort of. But she was stuck in her loop next to the toilets.

  
The corner of the countertop was his goal, though, not the lady.

  
It had taken him hours - or what had felt like hours; time was funny in here - to find it. A surprising amount of the museum was rounded corners, and it was fancy enough that even in the darkest passages, where the visitors wouldn't get to see, there were no rough edges to be found. Almost none, anyway. He'd managed to find one in the women's washroom.

  
If Akira were here, things would be a lot easier. He could just take his dagger, sharp as cognition could make it, and make a slit for him. It would only take a second. But Ryuji was stuck with his pipe and his shotgun, all blunt edges, so he had to get creative.

  
Morgana said their Metaverse outfits were based on their own cognition. Their own minds. He wondered what it said about him that his was made out of slippery plasticky shit and came with fucking kneepads but no zipper.

  
No real zipper, anyway. He had a useless one that led from his collar to halfway down his chest, but he'd already tried to rip his suit open further there. No dice. Akira's Joker outfit had a vest and pants, because that made _sense._ Ann's Panther suit was less straightforward, but if you looked hard enough, you could still see how she might get in and out of it if she tried (and of course he'd pictured her trying. He'd pictured himself helping her do it, too, because he was nothing if not helpful.) And Yusuke's Fox suit was a bit like his - made of the same shit, maybe - but his had a long, sensible zipper that would have let him change if he had to. Ryuji was sealed in, though, like his cognition had shrinkwrapped him instead of dressing him in actual clothing like the others.

  
The lady was shuffling around by the wall, so he bellied up to the counter, keeping his pipe at the ready. He could see her in the mirror, looking around furtively with her blank non-face, and despite all the time he'd spent in here unchecked, he still tensed up when she looked right at him. He couldn't help it. But of course they knew he belonged by now. She just kept going in her little loop, like there was a track on the floor that only she could see.

  
He needed both hands, so he stashed his pipe behind the faucets, pulled taut the crotch of his suit - whatever this shit was, it was stretchy - and attacked it with the unfinished corner of the countertop. A pinprick was all he needed. He stuck one finger into the hole, then two, then four, and ripped a wavy edged opening in his suit right where he wanted it.

  
His cock was more interested now. The lady was watching him, too.

  
"See somethin' you like?" He grimaced and immediately wished he could take his words back out of the air. This was another day that he hadn't spoken, not once, so his voice had all the charm of a rusty gate. Trying to sound sexy for what was basically a glorified mannequin just made it worse. He stood in front of the faucets, feet wide apart, and tried to put it out of his mind. But he kept his eyes on the lady behind him, just in case.

  
Finally getting his hands on himself, skin to skin, just about sent him right over the edge. He slammed the countertop with his thighs and free hand and hunched over, panting; his knees always went weak just before. He hissed at the added sensation from his bare hand and kept watching her in the mirror - pictured himself negotiating with a hotter version of her at gunpoint, pictured her giving him one of those flirty one liners - something like, "tee hee, I didn't expect you to be so _strong,"_ \- they always said shit like that - he pictured Akira next to him, backing him up with that Joker smirk on his face, as they waved their guns at her and got her down on her knees -

  
_"Fuck - "_

  
He made the mistake of glancing at his own reflection in the mirror, treating himself to a good look at his own dismayed face shifting into something ugly. He had time to register shock at his own thoughts - where did this shit even come from? He wasn't like that - not really - before he came, hard enough to decorate the mirror and part of the sink. He groaned, loud enough for it to echo back from the tiles - why be quiet anymore? - and slumped over the counter until the edge of it dug into the meat of his thighs.

It picked up his mood, like it always did, when he had gotten himself together enough to see where it had all gone. Maybe it was weird, but when he could take a minute to get a good look at it, instead of having to hurriedly clean himself up like he had to in his bedroom at home, or the washroom at school, or the one in Leblanc, it made it better. It made it easier to picture it in someone else's hand, or on someone else's body, instead of something he had to dispose of in a hurry before a knock came at the door.

  
It occurred to him that if he had started jerking off regularly inside a cognitive structure that was itself inside an old man's head, he probably didn't have to worry about whether just his thoughts were weird or not.

  
He leaned past the lady - s'cuse me, ma'am - and snagged some toilet paper from one of the stalls to wipe off his hand. No point in cleaning the countertop; it would just be gone by his next visit, and he didn't feel too torn up about leaving a scumbag's cognitive museum a bit grody, anyway. It wasn't as though the lady over by the wall had to clean it up, either. The little high from coming was already mostly gone, so he took back his pipe and resolved to have himself a better time in his comfortable little nest, now that he'd made a modification to his suit.

  
When he came back the next afternoon, he put a new hole in his freshly regenerated suit and left the washroom quickly, so he wouldn't have to see his face in the mirror.


	2. Redline

It was as though he no longer knew himself.

  
It had been pleasant enough, learning and painting and sleeping in Madarame's home. It wasn't as though he'd ever known anything else, after all. Yusuke had been the first, when his skill had just begun to manifest; he could scarcely remember anything from back then but the sensation of craning his neck to peer up at the face of someone praising his work, and the warmth that accompanied it when that same someone rested a large hand on the top of his head.

  
Others had joined the two of them, later, and he'd felt jealous at first. He distinctly recalled tearing a much older pupil's drawing to shreds, though going to bed hungry ensured that that was the last time he touched another's work without permission. True, there was something of a transition period. But before long, he came to welcome the steady influx of pupils. The space he slept in was bare during the day, just an empty box of a room with wooden planks for both the floor and walls, but as Madarame accepted one new pupil after another, the floor became crowded with futons at night. He was by far the youngest, and though he was certain in hindsight that they'd each had their own worries, they were kind to him, overall. The pupil whose drawing he'd destroyed had even come to dote on him as much as he teased him, giving Yusuke little scraps of his own meagre meals, particularly when he was given extra as a reward for making something especially lovely that day. Something that Madarame knew would sell well to his collectors, Yusuke would later come to realize.

  
Over time, the pupils had left, one by one, some under happier circumstances than others. For the most part, he and the other pupils would find one futon empty come morning, and that would be the last they'd hear of it. Madarame remained tight lipped each time, deflecting questions with an ease that came with practice until he clapped his hands, signalling that it was time to get down to painting. Then they'd begin that day's studio work in silence. Madarame kept the futon in the closet, ready for the next new pupil who showed promise.

  
In the end, the closet was well stocked with spare futons, but only he remained. Yusuke was both the first and last pupil.

  
When the shack had been full, it was as if they had all shared a purpose. There was always someone to give critique or ask for it, and he'd never lacked for inspiration when he could look across the room and see painting after painting in progress, each in different stages of completion and each made by a different hand, but no less beautiful to look at. It was very easy to put questions about the frequent visitors and the unsettling conversations he overheard to the back of his mind when his latest work was praised, then whisked away and replaced with a blank canvas just as quickly. But when he was the last, now attending Kosei during the day and balancing his latest work for Madarame with his assignments in the evenings, there seemed to be a little more room for introspection about where the dozens - _hundreds_ \- of paintings had gone, and why he was encouraged to sign his paintings at school but forbidden to sign the ones he painted at home.

  
He kept his suspicions to himself, of course, even after they had been confirmed as fact. He owed the man his life, and voicing his concerns would be an irrevocable blow to their relationship. He might have left them unspoken for good, in fact, had the Phantom Thieves not intervened.

  
The conflicting emotions he'd started to feel about Madarame over the last few years were nothing compared to what he felt now.

  
Madarame hadn't changed, he kept reminding himself. In a way, he was more true to himself than Yusuke had ever been. His deception went back further than Yusuke's memories did, and there was no reason to think that it wasn't a constant behind the scenes of his entire childhood. _Yusuke_ was the one who had changed, and if he dared to regret losing the father he'd built up out of falsehoods, did he have anyone to blame but himself?

  
But castigating himself didn't change how he felt. He spent his evenings alone in front of the easel or doing his homework, trying to brace himself for Madarame's arrival each night but never quite feeling prepared. He maintained a careful mask of composure when spoken to, but it was exhausting. All he could do was pick apart each conversation after the fact, trying to analyze if his responses to Madarame unwittingly revealed his anger, or his duplicity with the Thieves, or his dull, tired hurt as every little thing inside the shack reminded him that he had been betrayed. That he was _still_ being betrayed. Every minute that his painting remained displayed under Madarame's name in the exhibit downtown was a betrayal.

  
The kitchen table was where he had shared his meals elbow to elbow with the others, but it was also linked to his performance and his behaviour. He had never been one to act out beyond that single incident with the other pupil's drawing, so he had generally avoided missing meals as punishment, but there had been a handful of times when he remembered watching with real animosity as another pupil was rewarded for particular excellence with food rich and plentiful enough to leave the entire table silent and envious. They knew better than to protest, but if they had, Madarame would have simply framed it as motivation to reach new creative heights.

  
The barren room that was now his and his alone held memories of whispered conversations in the dark all around him. If he really wracked his brain, he could just barely recall a warm back to huddle against on the floor, or sometimes even a pair of arms to pull him into a hug. There was a pupil on his left side, a much older girl, who must have taken a particular liking to him - he was really only six or seven at that time, he guessed, though it was hard to remember for sure - and just as the much older boy had doted on him with bites of food, she had doted on him with little signs of affection when they'd both felt they could get away with it. Madarame was a distant father in that regard. The touch of his hand to the top of a pupil's head was reserved for special occasions, it seemed. The girl's invitations didn't occur with any regularity, either, because the other pupils teased her about mothering him, or asked her if she had a new pet, or accused her of spoiling him. But if they were both still awake by the time the whispers around them had ceased, there was a good chance she would reach across the floor and tap his wrist, their signal, and he'd crawl beneath her covers and feel safe in her arms.

  
Of course, nothing lasted forever. The room felt solemn as a tomb without the sound of breathing to surround him as he fell asleep. He sometimes caught himself wondering what had happened to the pupil who had dropped bites from his chopsticks into Yusuke's bowl, or the pupil who had risked scorn from the others in the morning when they found Yusuke still asleep next to her on her futon instead of on his own. But he might not ever know. Perhaps it was better to try to forget.

  
The painting room was of course his favourite.

  
At times, when they'd each had their heads down in deep concentration, the room had come alive with creative energy, as though they could amass it within themselves before transferring it on to the next pupil - as though it multiplied between them, crackling, as they each chased their inspiration in charged silence. Anyone who mistook painting for a solely solitary activity had never had the privilege of that experience.

Even when he'd still been small and hadn't needed to hunch in front of his easel, his back and neck had creaked in protest by the time Madarame clapped his hands at the end of the day, their signal to pack up their supplies and clean up; but while the other pupils had laughed and made jokes about gargoyles, or compared each other's postures to famous statues as they stretched their backs, he'd longed to continue. One more hour, he'd pleaded on one occasion, and the older pupils had laughed at that, too. That time, it had been a knowing sort of laugh.

  
But painting was tainted for him too, now, and painting was all he had left. Painting was all he _was._

  
He realized that he was wandering from room to room because he was trying to say goodbye. If not to the physical structure itself, then to the way things had been.

  
It was getting late, that night, and Madarame still hadn't returned from the exhibit downtown. It wasn't as though he was in the habit of informing Yusuke of his schedule, so it was strange that he felt so anxious about the time. Usually he would be deeply immersed in his work for hours at a stretch each evening, and it wouldn't matter what time Madarame arrived home; that would be the time to stop for the day, whatever the hour was. It was not unusual for Madarame to be absent until the next day altogether, and on those nights, it was Yusuke's heavy eyelids that forced him to stop. If asked, Madarame had generally offered some offhanded remark about a business trip or important opportunity that couldn't wait, though Yusuke knew now that he was more likely spending the night at his mistress's home on these occasions. It didn't matter. At this point it was simply one more deceit to tuck away, unchallenged for now but not forgotten.

  
This time, he'd barely begun to set up his palette before admitting defeat. He'd only leave a mess on the canvas and waste his paint if he tried to start like this. He'd put away his supplies with care and it was at that point that he'd begun wandering the shack, mooning uselessly over people who were long gone.

  
It wasn't something he used with any frequency, but at some point he found himself sitting on the floor, looking at his phone. Some of the other students at Kosei, and the Thieves, especially, were glued to theirs at all times, as if lost without them; he preferred to observe the world, recording to memory the way the light refracted through raindrops on the train window, or the way a man's shirt folds lay as he raised his arm to grip a handhold above his head. But there wasn't anything in the shack that he hadn't observed a thousand times already, so he stared at the screen.

  
The red eye of the Nav app stared back at him.

  
It was almost funny. If he stayed here, counting down the minutes until Madarame came home, his thoughts would be filled with him and only him. It would be difficult to think of anything else if he remained in the shack that embodied the man's deception so completely. But if he pressed the Nav, he'd find himself in the other world, the one that was the very manifestation of that same deception.

  
He could only select one or the other, but he did have a choice.

  
His life had been shaped by a single man's greed - not only was it an undercurrent below the surface in his day to day life, but when he had to trade words with Madrame by necessity, it also stared him directly in the face. And didn't that just bring the real question to the forefront? Was he angry at Madarame for believing him to be such a fool that he could use him for years - for his _entire life_ \- without a single objection raised? Or was he angry at himself for proving Madarame right?

  
His thumb seemed to move on its own, without further input from him. He made his choice.

  
He knew it was the right choice the second he took his first step into the Metaverse without the others. In the real world, his purpose was creating and creating alone, and he was well suited for it. His hands were dextrous, his eyes were sharp, and he'd gotten quite good at ignoring his body's needs for hours at a time for the sake of his art. But he was also weak. There was no denying that years of sacrifice had taken their toll on his strength.

 

There was also the matter of his self, his _pride_ \- the Phantom Thieves' intervention had forced him to finally acknowledge the situation for what it was, and though he knew now that it was better this way, it also meant that he was forced to acknowledge how skilled he was at deceiving himself, too.

  
But the Metaverse was another thing entirely. He was powerful here, somehow, a sensation both foreign and intoxicating. He was used to the feeling of mastery over his creations, something he'd honed over the course of a lifetime, but here he had an unearned level of skill with his katana and, even more unexpectedly, his assault rifle. In the real world, he was prone to dizzy spells, colds and flus, and nausea; here, his endurance had no limit. He'd ignored his body as best he could for most of his life, but here, there was a simple kind of joy to leaping beyond human ability and overcoming any barrier without even a pause to calculate the odds.

  
A strange pride grew within him. His worth in the real world was built upon what he could make with his hands, a commodity for others to covet - but here, anything he did was for himself alone. There was an art to evading Shadows, too, and he lost himself to it without a second thought. Whisper quiet was not an apt descriptor, because he was even quieter. He relied on his senses and uncanny reflexes to slip around the Shadows, always one step ahead and one second outside of their field of vision. He knew from experience that his mask and the other white parts of his Metaverse suit stood out like a brand, bright blue in the gloom, so he simply ensured that he was never seen.

  
He had no real destination. The Shadows were his focus, not his surroundings. And he'd automatically avoided it, at first, but in time, he found himself there all the same, peering up at himself.

  
He hated it.

  
The great artist Madarame had created this, or his cognition had, but he refused to accept it as truth. In the portrait, his shoulders were bowed, his hands clasped in front of him as if in supplication, and his _face -_

  
He found a sturdy plinth, intended to display some other fraudulent piece, and pulled it closer to stand atop it. He drew his katana, preternaturally sharp, and excised the face neatly from the surrounding canvas, catching it before it could fall to the floor. Then he sliced his own features into a precise grid, collected the squares, and disposed of them in a nearby trashcan, where they belonged.

  
The taboo of destroying not only a painting, but someone _else's_ painting, at that, made his heart pound in a way that none of the exertion in the Palace had.

  
But the Palace did not come crashing down around him. There was no alarm, and no spotlight to pin him to the floor. The nearest Shadow, a security guard barely in sight at the opposite end of the room, didn't even miss a step in his rounds.

  
Good help was hard to find, apparently. He improved the painting a little more, slicing a more confident line for his shoulders and removing his clasped hands entirely until there was barely a painting to look at anymore. Now it billowed out from the frame in tatters.

  
In his expert opinion, it looked better that way.

  
It was difficult to tell how long he'd stayed. The fewer words exchanged with Madarame, the better, so he slipped out of the Metaverse and back into the same room in the shack that he'd activated the Nav from undetected. He slept well.

  
The next day, after school, the Thieves exchanged pleasantries with him in their group chat as he sat alone again in the shack, just as they had every day since he'd joined them the week before. He'd found it strange at first. They were so familiar with one another that he'd assumed they were all old friends, but they clarified that Akira had only enrolled at Shujin six weeks prior, and Morgana, the cat, had technically met the others even later than that. And yet they were undeniably close in their chat, in their strategy meetings, and in the Metaverse. Perhaps it was just because Madarame's deception had been brought to light so recently, but he was ashamed to admit that he had begun to suspect the Thieves, as well; not of anything so malicious as what Madarame had done, of course, but he did second guess their motives.

  
He knew he didn't bring much of value to a conversation, so in their group chat he attempted to simply read the others' messages in silence, but they wouldn't allow it - each time, they'd pause their conversation to ensure he was present, forcing him to answer and involving him that way. For what reason, though? It was beyond him. On the surface level, he had infinitely more in common with the other students at Kosei, but none of them had ever cared what he had to say. Not in regards to art, given that he was only a fellow student rather than an instructor, and not in regards to anything else, either.

  
If their aim was to simply trick him into revealing information on Madarame, their efforts were wasted, because after awakening to his Persona, his initial wariness around them had dissipated. After witnessing Madarame's Shadow gloating over his own greed, he'd have gladly told the Thieves anything they needed to know, no matter how shameful. But over the next few days he'd realized it couldn't be that, either. They did bring up Madarame frequently, it was true, but it was always framed as gathering intelligence for their Palace infiltration, and it was almost always followed by an apology for having to remind him of it, or by an inquiry about his emotional state. He tried to examine that too, looking for hidden angles, but there seemed to be none. They simply wanted to know if he was alright.

  
He needed more time to puzzle it out. For the time being, at least, Akira declined to call a meeting, and the group chat thinned out, then fell silent. He was left to his own devices.

  
He glanced at his empty easel for only a moment or two before he got to his feet, crept downstairs and slipped outside before hitting the Nav. His work in progress was calling him.

  
When permitted to choose, he tended toward expressive landscapes at Kosei, but he had to admit that his skills in anatomy and portraiture were lacking. It certainly wasn't uncommon for his roughs to be handed back with a fine net of red ink sitting on top. Today, his drawing instructor had done just that, in fact, redlining over his sketch of two men fencing, and it had given him the idea.

  
A measured leap over the wall, a drop through the skylight and then a silent sprint brought him face to face with himself again, the canvas whole and renewed.

  
He drew his katana and turned it this way and that, studying it. It felt satisfying in his hand in a way no other weapon could, as though he'd made it himself - and he supposed he had, in a way.

  
Now that it came down to it, he did feel a hint of trepidation. He didn't watch movies on his own time, since he didn't have the means to other than his phone's screen, but at Kosei they'd shown both fine art films as well as broader genres liberally. More than one movie with supernatural themes had depicted the hero drawing blood by making a fist around the blade of a knife, then pulling it downwards, and the mere thought was enough to make him shudder - just the idea of risking permanent damage to the tendons in his hands, his tools, was abhorrent. So his palm was out. So were his forearms.

  
As he stood there, one hand holding the katana and the other pressed lightly to the sleeve covering his right forearm, he pictured what it would be like to nick a little too deep. It wouldn't take much. The line between drawing blood and exsanguination felt very thin, and he already knew his katana was very sharp. He unbuttoned the sleeve of his Metaverse suit and pulled it back, revealing his arm - even in the low light, the blue veins below his skin were clearly visible. For some reason, inspecting the veins in his forearm with his katana in hand did not feel abhorrent in the same way that the mere thought of slicing his palm with an imaginary knife did.

  
He pulled his sleeve back down.

  
The outside of his upper arm might work. He'd flipped through one of the more detailed anatomy textbooks in the library and found that the major arteries of the upper arm were much further below the surface than they were in the forearm, at least, as were the tendons. He should be safe if he took care.

  
One more glance upward at the painted falsehood towering over him firmed his resolve. He inhaled deeply, held it, and touched his katana to his sleeve until it parted easily - whatever synthetic material it was made of held no resistance for a blade like this. The ease of it was what he was worried about, though. He planted his feet again, let out his breath, and drew in another. He cut.

  
It really was sickeningly easy. If his hands had been shaking, he might have found himself in a race between his pulse and the time it took to make it back out of the Palace. Thinking of his katana as an inanimate object had been a mistake, because it wasn't - it was a part of him, just as Goemon was.

  
During his awakening, Goemon, his katana and his rifle had each sprung forth from him, fully formed, and though they did his bidding, it wasn't in the same way that a tool was used. They obeyed him but also anticipated him. His Metaverse suit must have been the same; when he'd touched his katana to his sleeve, the material had _recoiled_ apart, eager to help him achieve his goal.

  
When he touched the blade to his arm, it was the same. He'd barely brushed the metal to his skin, but his katana was made to sink into flesh, or what passed for flesh on a Shadow. It was what it wanted. So it did as he asked, and if he wasn't mistaken, it pulled in his hand, too, like one magnet drawn to another.

  
At least he wouldn't run out of paint.

  
There was some pain. While his cut was still bleeding, he could feel his hearbeat in the wound, a sensation that he would have found distracting if he wasn't so used to putting his body's wants on the backburner for the sake of his art. The sight of the blood was harder to ignore. He knew that if he had somehow managed to cut himself this deeply in the real world, he would have felt nauseous. Maybe he'd have even fainted. Inside the Metaverse, he apparently had a stronger constitution, so he did his best to put it to the back of his mind and stood on the plinth.

  
Of course he hadn't brought a brush, because he wasn't certain it would have remained a brush inside the Palace. The rules of such things seemed to be so arbitrary that he'd decided not to worry about it. There was something to be said for the choices that came from improvisation on the spot, anyway.

  
His left glove felt heavy and warm, half filled with the blood that had run down his arm inside his sleeve. It would do. He began to slip it off but took a moment to admire the colour his blood made against the material: the blood dominated the blue but it was still visible at the edges, a colour darker than wine but close to it in hue. He finished removing his glove carefully, dipped the first two fingers of his right hand inside, and began.

  
The way Madarame saw him, his shoulders were slumped and rounded. Submissive. He fixed those first. The shoulders led easily to his arms, then to his hands, clasped in front of him as though begging forgiveness, or requesting charity. His fingertips glided easily over the canvas - this portrait of him was only painted thinly on the surface, without the use of impasto - and made bold marks. Although human anatomy was not his specialty, arms in a waist up portrait facing forward were simple enough for anyone to sketch in, really; he simply drew them hanging at his sides.

  
When he got to the hands, he surprised himself. With a few economical strokes, he drew his hands balled into fists.

  
He leaned back several inches, still on the plinth, and admired the effect. He hadn't known he was going to do it until his fingers were already halfway through. But that wasn't anything unusual. Often the best part was letting the piece take over. It would tell you what it needed, and even if you had had something else in mind for it, it was typically better to listen.

  
His face stumped him, though.

  
Sometimes he kicked himself. When the shack had been filled with pupils, he could have been practicing portraiture with more subjects than he could have handled in a single day. They'd certainly drawn each other, unprompted by Madarame. But he'd been too young to think of his education. If he'd followed their example, he'd be better off today, and his portrait sketches at Kosei would come back to him with less red ink on them. Instead he'd painted more by imagination than observation when he was young, and though the experience had still been valuable, it was not the right type of experience to help him today.

  
He'd delayed long enough for the blood to stick his fingers together, as tacky as a weak glue. His supply was cooling rapidly, too. He held the glove closed in his hand to try to keep it warm and considered carefully.

  
It might have been the eyebrows that radiated - well. Perhaps, before he made marks that would be difficult to lift up again, he should first decide what it was that bothered him so much about the way Madarame had portrayed him.

  
He laughed suddenly, a brief huff that sounded strange in the relative silence of the Palace. He'd been planning his fixes for most of the day, ever since he'd sliced the same portrait to shreds the night before, but he'd left out an important step in his preparation. He couldn't remember what he looked like. He saw his own face every morning, but it was a surface level scan only, to check for cleanliness and to put his hair in order; he wasn't really seeing his features, their shape and proportion to one another. Some artists made self portraits - some artists made nothing _but_ self portraits - and they undoubtedly improved their skills in doing so. But he'd avoided it all this time.

  
The fact that he could do better on a future visit took some of the sting out of his mistake. A cognitive painting was created with the most forgiving media of all.

  
He kept searching his own face. Madarame had portrayed him as a victim, he decided.

  
It was in the eyebrows - the mouth - well, it might have been the face as a whole. The squared shoulders and hands balled into fists already helped immensely, but the face still needed work. There was something too close to adoration there. Adoration was affection without critical thought, without regard for oneself, and that was just it. That was how Madarame had deceived him. There was no single act that could be pointed to, but instead a lifetime of things carefully left unsaid. Lies by omission. Yusuke had let himself love him, because he didn't know any better, but it was time to put this to an end.

  
He unstuck his fingers and chose a smaller brush by using only his index finger this time. There was enough blood pooled in the fingertips of his glove to turn his weak, uncertain eyebrows into an expression of determination. His mouth bothered him more. Did he smile like this in person? If he did, was it just for Madarame, or did others see this, too? This was a wishy washy sort of smile, not enough to express true happiness on its own; it was a smile for someone else, for the viewer's benefit. He resolved to study his reflection more and practice. If his smile looked like _this,_ he'd rather not smile at all. With the last of his blood, he drew a firm line straight through it. Determination? Now his portrait, clenched fists and all, communicated nothing but defiance.

  
He stepped down from the plinth and held out his right hand, indicating the painting he'd just finished redlining. He kept his voice low to avoid drawing the Shadows' attention. "Your work shows promise, but the likeness just isn't there. You should get to know your subject better, old man."

  
Now that his work was complete, the pain was starting to sing quietly at the edges of his attention. The ragged snarls of his cut sleeve were crusted well into the wound, everything caked with blood as black as the material itself, but luckily he knew in advance what would happen to it in a few moments, so he left it the way it was. He'd seen it firsthand: every other Thief had been wounded in battle, some injuries worse than others, but they'd waved off his concern, even as their faces twisted with the pain they were undoubtedly experiencing. Some of it was because Ann and Morgana had healing magic, and Akira was an attentive leader. He never left anyone on his team in pain for long. But some of it was just the way the Metaverse worked.

  
On his very first time visiting the Metaverse, on the night he'd awakened to Goemon, he'd watched Ryuji take a strike to the back that laid him flat on the floor, trembling with pain and unable to rise to his feet again until the battle was over. Akira and Ann had each clutched one of his arms, clearly asking him something, but with a curt shake of his head, he'd declined. They'd nodded, and despite the slick of blood visible through a tear in his suit on the left side of his lower back, they'd left him alone.

  
Morgana must have noted the confusion on Yusuke's face. "We're almost out. We might need to save our magic, so Skull says he'd rather wait and see."

  
Yusuke had had his own worries to concern himself with, not least of which was the fatigue he felt down to his bones, which unfortunately did not seem to be ameliorated by healing magic one bit. He had actually forgotten about Ryuji's condition until they'd wavered back into the real world, clearing the sidewalk in front of Madarame's shack quickly to avoid detection.

  
He'd found himself standing behind Ryuji during their exit from the Metaverse and was able to catch a glimpse of the nasty wound, still oozing blood, heal as if in time lapse just before it was obscured by the fabric of his clothing - a garish t-shirt and the blazer of his school uniform.

  
"S'fine, man." He'd even reached behind himself and patted his own back roughly until Yusuke winced. "Metaverse shit. Blood's gone, too."

  
So Yusuke took the time to admire his handiwork before turning to leave the Palace for the night. Perhaps Madarame would take his critique to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yusuke made me sad enough to go out of my way to write in one (1) character to feed him and one (1) character to hug him, lol


	3. Performance Art

It was getting to the point where Ryuji was starting to think he had a problem.

  
For the last couple months, especially after Akira had come, he'd been good. Ann was usually only a little more dedicated to her studies than he was, but Akira seemed to bring them both up, effortlessly, as if just his presence made them try harder. And kicking Kamoshida's ass had made a big difference, too. Nothing like taking down the king of a castle to boost your confidence in yourself, even if it only helped with shit like exams. Still. Ryuji studied with Akira and Ann more often, and when Akira cut his chat short with the two of them now and then to start his homework, it became automatic for them to just follow suit and get started on theirs. It even felt like less of a pain in the ass than it used to, and he could focus better, too.

  
Now he hadn't touched his homework in days, though.

  
It was never enough. He couldn't even remember what enough _felt_ like, anymore. And it was a moving target, anyway. It used to be that he could stop after one and just lay there, feeling good. There were even a couple of years, after his dad left but before all the shit with Kamoshida started, where he could _forget_ about it. Just miss his schedule and go without for a whole day, and when he did remember, it was because he actually wanted it. Like when he had a weird dream out of nowhere that he wanted to follow up on, or when he saw someone extra hot on the train on the way home. Something that was more like a nice surprise, instead of whatever you called it now that constantly nagged at the back of his mind.

  
At home he had to be quick and quiet, and even then, there were still times his mom came home earlier than expected, or knocked on his door to call him to dinner right when he was in the middle of it. It was even worse in the washroom at school or the one in Leblanc - it didn't exactly feel sexy to sit hunched, trying to hold his breath and keep his ears open and his eyes peeled and his hand working frantically, all at the same time, as his stupid fucking dick refused to just give in and give him what he wanted.

  
But it was better here.

  
There was an HVAC system humming away quietly, keeping things comfortable. And he had his corner, with the scavenged couch cushions and the wall he could push his feet up against to give him leverage to fuck his hand, if he needed to. And he could be loud. It felt better to be loud for some reason. He had the vague idea that it was weird to be loud, or maybe just not how a dude was supposed to be, but who gave a shit here how loud he was? He always heard the lady in the washroom next door shuffling around - she was a Shadow, but he'd come to think of her as something more like a roommate, a nice one who didn't bug him - but she never knocked on the wall to tell him to keep it down. The guards never came running, either.

  
He laughed, letting himself be loud that way, too, as he sprawled flat on his back on top of one of the cushions in his corner. Maybe nobody kicked him out of here because they thought he was one of the exhibits. Some kind of nasty performance art for the papers to write an article about, pretending to be all scandalized or whatever.

  
Yusuke had started telling him and the other Thieves about performance art a few days ago, while they were gathered in the Shibuya walkway for a meeting. If Ryuji started going on and on about something off topic during a meeting, Akira would listen politely for a minute or two and then steer things back on track, but Yusuke probably got special treatment both because he was new and because he was still going through his thing. Ann and Ryuji were done with Kamoshida, more or less, but Yusuke still had to go home at the end of the day and face the guy they were trying to take down. Yusuke was pretty fucking weird, but Ryuji was willing to bet that didn't feel too great, even for him.

  
Maybe it wasn't so much that Yusuke got special treatment. Maybe Akira cut Ryuji off in the meetings because he was Ryuji. Maybe he got whatever you called the opposite of special treatment.

  
He'd gotten pretty good at leaving those kind of thoughts outside the museum, though.

  
It was harder when they infiltrated. He liked to keep the two Akiras separate: the one in his head lived in the museum, and the real one got to be outside. Real Akira was keeping to himself lately - or at least, if he'd found some new girl to go after, he'd stopped telling Ryuji about it. Now, when he left his classroom after the bell, he just caught the back of Akira's head every now and then, in a big fat hurry to be anywhere else.

  
The Akira in his head was a bit friendlier.

  
But infiltrating sort of mixed the two of them up, letting the real Akira go where the Akira in his head belonged, and it felt strange. He didn't know how to act. In the week or two since he'd started coming to the museum alone every chance he could, the other day had been the first time Akira gathered them all up and led them inside; his head had known what they were there for, but apparently the rest of him hadn't. He'd missed his cues when they were sneaking around in single file, and in battle, his eyes had been on Akira more than the Shadows. And when he _had_ gotten an opening, he'd hesitated. A minute ago, the little fairy Shadow he'd been about to splat like a bug with his pipe had been a museum tour guide with a clipboard - in a different spot, sure, but otherwise just like the one he hung out with in the ladies' washroom every day after school, and she wasn't so bad.

  
(And besides. His dad had taught him not to hit women, though not in so many words, and certainly not by example. If he did the opposite of everything his dad did, he figured he'd get on okay.)

  
He'd lunged at the little fairy and swung, but he'd also pulled it short at the last second, so she'd fluttered out of reach. She'd even put a little flip into it, like they were just playing. Like his hits were just for show. Maybe it was the Shadows' hits that had really been just for show, though, because even though he was only half there, trying to be subtle as he'd stared at Akira's ass and hands and shoulders, he didn't get hit, not once. At one point, Ann had taken a spell to the chest and had to heal herself back up quick, and Akira'd gotten a few glancing slashes to his upper arms more than once, but Ryuji had just floated on through, safe.

  
Every fight had been like that. Ann had never been what you'd call the athletic type, but she was getting real good with her whip, cracking it faster than his eye could follow and printing black oozing lines on the Shadows' hides like magic. And in the real world, Yusuke looked like the wind could blow him over, but here he moved like he was straight out of a samurai movie, confident and strong.

  
Akira was Akira. Ryuji used to think that Joker was the face he put on in the Metaverse, but that was wrong. He _was_ Joker, and Akira, the guy who wore big glasses and left his hair messy and who always, always smelled like coffee, was the fake. Ryuji had let himself be tricked, just like everyone else, but he couldn't be mad about it. Akira, or Joker, really, had blown through the Shadows like smoke. Ryuji had just sat back and watched him cut them down as easily as he did everything else he put his mind to, meanwhile not even pretending to look for an opportunity to get another hit in himself. When the fight was over, Akira benched him.

  
He'd been nice about it. He'd pulled Ryuji aside in the safe room instead of just giving the order to switch out in front of the others like he normally would, and that spoke volumes. Akira had been nice about it because he thought Ryuji needed to be treated differently than Ann, Yusuke or Morgana.

  
Akira had leaned close - closer than they'd been in weeks, actually - and clapped him on the shoulder, like nothing had changed. "You got a cold or something?"

  
"Oh, uh. Don't think so. Why?"

  
He'd actually winked, a Joker move for sure, and had left his hand on Ryuji's shoulder for a little longer before taking it back. "Nah, I think you're sick. Must be. You better head back out and send Mona in." He'd adjusted his mask, too, the same way he did to his glasses out in the real world, then lowered his voice and grinned. Like he had a good joke to let Ryuji in on. "Panther'll bitch at you if you give her a runny nose and make her miss a shoot, you know."

  
The touch of Akira's gloved hand to his shoulder, even through the material of his suit, had been enough to get his feet moving in the right direction. Never mind the sound of Akira's voice, or the way his face had looked up close. Those were just nails in the coffin. Ryuji had gotten all the way back out, smiling like a fucking idiot and peering down at tiny little Morgana from the museum rooftop, before he'd even realized how easily he'd just been manipulated. In the end, the way Akira had him twisted around his little finger - really, the way he'd just told Ryuji he was doing such a shitty job at getting hits in that he was going to have to call in the fucking backup healer just to get some damage done, then sent him away with a smile and a pat on the head, all without Ryuji even realizing he'd just been told he was useless - wasn't all that different from how Shadow negotiations usually went. Not the negotiations with the girl-shaped things; they went round and round forever. Those were for Akira to get his kicks. This had been like the negotiations with the beast things. The fewest possible words exchanged for Akira to get what he wanted without anybody kicking up a fuss until it was too late.

  
But he still couldn't be mad. Not really. Akira had never winked at him before.

  
His brain had this special talent for spooling out all these other scenarios that could come to pass where Akira might feel inclined to wink at him again, as though coming up with scenes for him in his head might be enough to make one come true. They'd piled up on top of one another, each one escalating things until the cat had shouted up at him from the parking lot outside the museum, asking if everything was okay. He'd jumped a little, startled, and realized he'd just been standing there at the edge of the roof, motionless, as he let his idiot brain run on.

  
He was _still_ smiling about that wink, even now, as he thought back on it from his comfortable little corner. It was getting bad. He was starting to wonder just what it would take for him to hate Akira's guts. He had the sneaking suspicion that Akira could tell him to step in front of a fucking train, and he'd just ask him when the next one was scheduled for. Could Akira do _anything_ awful enough to turn off this - whatever this was? During that last infiltration, when Ryuji had finally gotten his shit together and dropped to the pavement in front of Morgana to tag him in, he remembered that his face had felt hot against the cool night air outside the museum. There was nothing he could do about the parts of his face that his mask didn't cover, but he _was_ grateful for how low his crisscrossed ammo belts hung across his hips, and not for the first time.

  
Willpower wasn't his strong suit - understatement of the year, given how he'd been spending his afternoons. He'd realized that he'd been pacing circles out in front of the museum all by himself as he waited for the others to finish up, not that different from what the guards and staff did inside, in fact, and that put his mind on a dangerous track.

  
They'd made it through enough infiltrations by now that he knew roughly how long they took each time. Akira had sent him packing fairly early into this one. Now that Morgana was switched in, they had two healers, and things would go smoothly.

  
It's not like they'd miss him if he was gone, right? They'd never even know he'd left.

  
It had been close. He'd flipflopped one way, then the other, achingly hard - this was the longest he'd made himself wait in ages - but in the end, he'd managed to resist crawling back to his corner. The Shadows gave him a pass when he came by for a visit in the afternoons on his own, and they'd been ignoring him that night while the Thieves kept them busy, but the same might not be true if he'd showed his face while the others were busy at the other end of the museum. Maybe that would've been pushing his luck.

  
He'd planted his back against the front wall of the museum, staring out across the fake parking lot at nothing, and did it right there instead. If the Thieves had started to climb up out of the skylight and interrupted him, it wouldn't have mattered - the distance and angle would give him the second or two he'd need to stop and adjust his belts into place again. Not as comfortable as his usual spot, but it worked fine.

  
For once his cock had cooperated and rewarded him with barely any delay. It was honestly kind of pathetic how far one little wink could carry him. The fact that he hadn't had anything to cut open his suit wasn't enough to stop him, but it was kind of regrettable afterward. He'd done it just fine inside his suit every time he'd come to the museum - desperate times, etcetera - until he'd discovered the unfinished corner of the washroom counter, but now that he'd found it, he'd let himself get spoiled. He'd forgotten what it felt like to come back down just to have to sit in cold congealed jizz for the rest of the time spent in the Metaverse, gluing himself to the material of his suit and pulling at him in a way that was only more and more uncomfortable. It all disappeared like it had never been there at all every time he wavered back out to the real world, along with his plasticky suit, but in the meantime, he had no choice but to put up with it.

  
The urgency was gone, but he'd leaned against the wall and started running through more scenarios starring the Akira in his head to get ready to have another one - the fact that he was already thoroughly stuck to his suit had never stopped him before, after all - when he'd heard muffled footfalls on the rooftop. Akira had dropped neatly to the pavement in front of him to catch him up on their progress, and then the Thieves had headed home, splitting off at Shibuya station to take their separate trains. All except Yusuke. He had the shortest commute, if you could call it that: every time they finished up an infiltration, he just turned on his heel and walked right back in through the door of the shack, exactly where the museum had been a minute ago.

  
Actually, it was kind of weird to think that every afternoon after school, Ryuji hung out in the exact same place that Yusuke did - just not in the same cognitive realm. They could have been layered right on top of each other, occupying the same space but never knowing the other was there.

  
As he let his mind wander, he suddenly realized that he'd managed to go without for the entire day so far, the longest he'd gone in weeks and weeks. He hadn't even in the shower that morning, or in the washroom at school. He'd set up the couch cushions for his nest next to the ladies' washroom without thinking about much of anything, and he'd gotten comfortable, but then he'd started thinking about how weird infiltrations had gotten now that he had a secret to hide from the rest of the Thieves, and apparently that had been enough to get him out of the rut.

  
Or maybe it was just that remembering how useless he was to Akira now made it harder to imagine him wanting anything more to do with Ryuji than the bare minimum it took to get through an infiltration. Not even that, if he couldn't even fight.

  
His mind treated him to a quick sequence of images, flash flash flash, of what it would be like if things went on that way. First Akira would try to be nice about it, because he was like that. He'd bring Ryuji along to every infiltration, even if he couldn't get his hits in, and the others would be too nice to say anything, too. Then he'd start leaving him outside the museum every time, all on his own, because they needed four people to get shit done, and Ryuji couldn't be relied on anymore. He'd be the 'backup', and not in the way they'd each switched out regularly before. If he couldn't take down a Shadow, he wasn't a Phantom Thief - it wasn't like he had anything to fall back on, like Morgana's knowledge of the Metaverse or Ann's healing magic.

  
He pictured Akira keeping up the nice act, the one that kept him at arms length as the others put their lives on the line. He pictured Akira putting on that nice voice, the one that _sounded_ warm enough as he told Ryuji that it might be best if he didn't hang around the Shibuya walkway after school, since Akira would need to call a meeting soon, leaving it unspoken that Ryuji wasn't invited.

  
Morgana had already called him a liability for his big mouth, more than once, but now Akira would stop defending him and let the silence speak for itself.

  
It hurt, and the museum wasn't for that. He had hours of lying awake in his bed at night to torture himself about how the real Akira felt about him. The museum was where the Akira in his head lived, and -

  
But it might be good for him if he could think about something else, even if only for an hour or two.

  
He levered himself to his feet before he could change his mind, hoping to find some weird exhibit or new Shadow to occupy him until he inevitably caved and went back to his corner. He made it a dozen steps before realizing that he'd left his pipe behind and had to go back for it.

  
Same old museum, though. At least, this part towards the entrance, where he usually hung out, looked the same as ever. He waved at the guards and pretended they waved back. He came across another tour guide lady, doing circles in a different area than his roommate in the ladies' washroom but otherwise identical, and winked at her, trying it out, though it felt pretty dumb when he did it. His idiot brain immediately piped up, just panting at the chance to link something he was doing to Akira - to remind him of the way Akira had winked at him behind his Joker mask, or even just the way he looked in his plain old everyday school uniform. The way his hair looked with a little sweat in it, dripping from the ends and travelling down his neck, after they'd been working out. The way his hands -

  
He shut that shit down like he was slamming a door in his head and kept going.

  
His feet took him up to the bigass portrait of Yusuke. It wasn't hard to see how much it bugged him every time they all had to go through here during infiltrations, and if _Ryuji_ could see it, it must have been nothing but obvious to Akira. Now that he thought about it, Akira always made them run past it full tilt on their way through, even when they'd already cleared the area of Shadows. Because he was nice like that.

  
He'd also avoided it when he was here on his own, though for different reasons. The fewer reminders of the outside in here, the better it was for him. For one thing, the less he thought about Yusuke when he was holed up in here alone, the less likely he was to naturally jump to thinking about the real Akira. The Akira in his head was the one he favoured in here.

  
Today was different, though. He'd been good for the whole day, and he actually started to feel weirdly cheerful about it. If he could last a whole day, straight through from morning to night, maybe he could put things back where they belonged.

  
His afternoons could go back to being for manga and the arcade, and if he had to go on his own, so what? Lots of guys there looked like they'd come to play games on their own. He could dial Akira back down in his head, back down to where someone he'd only known for two months belonged. Akira was a good guy, smart and cool and _really_ fucking hot, it was true, but he also clearly wasn't into Ryuji in the same way, and that was fine. It was. He just had to get out of this nasty habit of coming up with new ways to justify keeping Akira in his head.

  
If he could last a whole day without jerking off, without feeling like he needed it over and over just to feel okay, maybe he could go back to enjoying it sometimes. More like just once or twice a day, or when he had an actual reason to want it, like a normal person. Not this thing gnawing at his brain like a toothache that wouldn't go away. If a toothache could make you rub at yourself until nothing but water came out. Or until you gave yourself friction burns, but kept at it anyway.

  
The idea of taking back some semblance of control over himself - the idea that he _could_ \- put a big grin on his face, but when he got up to the foot of the portrait of Yusuke and craned his neck to check it out without really thinking about it, the look of it took the grin right back off again.

  
It was different.

  
Had it been like this every time he'd come here? He had no way of knowing, since he'd done his best to avoid it. They'd all blown past it at a good clip during the last infiltration, so he couldn't say for certain, but... no, this must be new. It had to be.

  
Before Yusuke had joined them, when it had been just him, Akira, Ann and Morgana still, they'd all stopped short at this painting and stared at it for a good while as Akira figured out what their next move should be. He'd already known what Yusuke looked like - real scrawny, nice hair, sort of a deadpan kinda face - so he'd mostly just glanced at it and then let himself go back to half listening to Akira as he committed to memory what his hands looked like as he pulled his red gloves tighter at the wrists, first one, then the other.

  
Back then, it was just a painting that used some not-quite-real colours. Maybe some funky patterns, too, here and there. But you could still tell it was Yusuke, if you knew what he looked like. His face was clearly visible.

  
Now it was covered in black gunk. Did the _Shadows_ mark it up? It was hard to believe that the guards and employees who couldn't go two minutes without kissing 'Lord Madarame's' ass, even when no one was looking, would do this to one of his precious paintings.

  
There was a shit ton of black lines on either side of his body, but it was Yusuke's face that got the worst of it. His features were almost entirely hidden behind the black. That made it seem more like some kid with a sharpie got at it, like the treatment any ad with a model's face would get if it hung up for too long in an out of the way corner in Shibuya. So if it wasn't the Shadows, then...

  
He wasn't the thinker. It wasn't his job. But he could only come up with two ideas: either some graffiti kid with a sharpie _had_ gotten in somehow - and was it that impossible? After all, Ann had wandered right into Kamoshida's castle just because she'd been standing too close to him and Akira when they'd pressed the Nav - or it had been Madarame himself.

  
Neither would be good news. Grafitti Kid would get snapped up by the Shadows the second they spotted him. The only reason Ann had made it before she'd awakened Carmen was because the guards had mistaken her for the slutty kitty version of her that Kamoshida's Shadow kept as his toy. Unless Grafitti Kid had had a real insightful afternoon and got a new Persona to call his own, he was already dead.

  
He stepped a little closer, tilting his head, and was relieved all over again that nobody was relying on him for his deep thoughts and sharp intellect.

  
Of course it wasn't fucking marker. It'd have to be a marker an inch or two across to make lines this thick, at this kind of scale. Even if it had been, the lines weren't shiny like a sharpie's were. And it wasn't even black, not really. It just looked black in the weird dim light. It was a dark, rich red. More like maroon, maybe.

  
Oh.

  
This was bad.

  
He was going to have to come clean after all. Akira needed to know this shit. This was getting to look more and more like Madarame painting a target on Yusuke's back, on his _face,_ and there was no way around it. Even if Akira did shitcan him - and did that seriously make him feel sick, like he was going to throw up at the mere thought of losing his spot with the Phantom Thieves? Why yes, yes it did - it wasn't worth Yusuke's _life._

  
He got out of there in a hurry, headed right back the way he came. But as he got closer and closer to his usual spot, his feet slowed down, all on their own.

  
There were the soft couch cushions wedged into his corner, one blue and one green today. He kept going, close enough to catch a glimpse of his roommate's back, shuffling around in the ladies' washroom like she always was. Now he was standing over his little corner, and he told himself it would be for just a few minutes. He needed to get it straight in his head how he was going to frame all this to Akira before he just charged out and told him.

  
Funny how his stomach felt fine now.

  
Maybe a little white lie would be okay. He could fib and say that he'd noticed the change to Yusuke's portrait on his way outside, when he'd been sent out to switch with the cat during their last infiltration a couple days ago.

  
It was pretty flimsy though. Akira wasn't a moron. He'd ask why Ryuji hadn't told him right then and there. If Ryuji tried to pretend that it had been for Yusuke's sake that he'd avoided bringing up the bloody portrait in front of everyone, Akira would naturally ask why he hadn't told him while they'd been catching up on how the infiltration had gone. Or in a private chat message, or in the hallway at school the next day, or the next, or any number of times that would make more sense than now.

  
And -

  
Fuck. He could just fucking cry. He was trying to figure out something serious, something that actually mattered, but now his cock wanted attention, because of course it did. His gut twisted with something like hatred.

  
If the bloodied up portrait of Yusuke meant what he thought it did, his days in Madarame's shack might very well be numbered. If it didn't mean that Madarame intended to kill him, it could still mean that he suspected something was up. There were still a hell of a lot of ways Madarame could get at Yusuke without outright killing him when the guy was his legal guardian and they lived in the same fucking house.

  
When he and the other Thieves had met with Nakanohara, one of Madarame's former pupils who'd put in a request on the Phan-site, he'd said that one of the other pupils had already committed suicide. And that was one of the ones who'd gotten _out._ Yusuke was still stuck there.

  
His cock throbbed, impatient. He was already halfway to the sharp corner in the ladies' washroom before he could even register that he'd gotten to his feet.

  
God. He was such a piece of shit.

  
Not that this was anything new, though. He'd just done his best to forget about it. Before his dad left a couple years ago it had been like this too, despite the fact that he'd had even less privacy back then than he did now. His dad had a pretty good temper on him, so Ryuji took what he dished out as best he could without showing how it made him feel to keep his mom from worrying more than she had to. So he'd pretended to himself that it was manly to let your dad give you bruises and welts where they wouldn't show, as long as you kept yourself from crying until after everybody else had gone to bed.

  
It was weird. _He_ was weird. It wasn't that he liked it. There was no actual connection between the pain and what he did by himself in the dark afterward - at least, he figured there wasn't, because it was never immediate, and it wasn't like the pain was something he liked to think about. Getting hit didn't make him hard, and sometimes there was most of a day between when he'd face his dad and when he could get some time to himself. But still, there he'd be. Chasing one little high in his bedroom, then another, then another, as though he could get away that way.

  
Then his dad finally left them, and he and his mom stopped getting bruises. And this bullshit he was trying to resist now had gone away too, all on its own.

  
For a whole year or two, he'd found relief. Things were good on the track team, and he'd gotten himself under control again. He still _could_ \- it wasn't like he _never_ touched himself - but he didn't _need_ it.

  
There'd even been a few weeks two summers ago when he and Ann had fallen into an unspoken thing, as if putting words to it would wreck it. Maybe that was exactly it, too, because one afternoon he'd looked at her, and she'd looked right back with the same sort of face he must've been wearing himself, and they'd agreed that maybe it was better to stop if they weren't going to date. Officially, anyway. The idea of asking her to be his girlfriend hadn't even crossed his mind, and apparently she was in the same boat, because the thing ended just like that - no drama, no tears. In a way they were actually closer lately, or at least talking was easier, but she didn't seem to want to go back to it, so he didn't push.

  
The point was that during those weeks, he'd come over to her empty house with a bag of snacks or a couple drinks, as if to disguise what he was really there for, and she'd led him straight to her room to make out on her bed for hours and hours. As hot as it was, the real reason he liked to look back on it was because it was the best proof he had that there'd been a time when he'd been normal. Ann had wanted it as much as he did - maybe more, or maybe she'd just felt less shy about showing it after they'd been at it for a while. He never even had to ask. Every time, they'd gotten each other off once each, sometimes twice if he'd made it there early enough, and when it came time for him to leave, he didn't go straight home, even though he would have had the place all to himself. He'd fucked off to the arcade, or the fishing spot, and even with all that time to think, alone, he hadn't wanted more. Once or twice was enough. He'd been satisfied.

  
Then there was that shit with Kamoshida, and while it wasn't worse, exactly - getting your leg broken sucked, yeah, but it felt different when it was some guy you were allowed to hate; when it was your dad hitting you, that was another thing entirely - it seemed to get to him more. Maybe it was just because he couldn't get away, trapped in his room like he was. He fell back into the same bullshit just as if he'd never left it, using his body to make himself feel better for handfuls of seconds at a time. It was obvious that it didn't last, that the same shit he'd dealt himself would still be around when he came back to reality, but it was just as obvious that he was helpless to stop on his own.

  
He'd come back out of it when Akira came, when they were all flying high after putting Kamoshida in his place. But it was brief. Looking back, it was like he'd surfaced just long enough to take a breath before Akira had -

  
Aw, fuck. Akira.

  
He realized his hand had been moving all this time, slowly stroking his length through the thin plasticky shit his suit was made of even though he'd gone to the trouble of making a slit with the corner of the washroom counter. Apparently he was going to make this one last.

  
He'd been so good, too. Almost a whole day, for the first time in who knew how long.

  
But he could always try again tomorrow.

  
He'd started to think of his situation as a hole he'd been digging, something he made a little worse every day and that he could blame on no one but himself. He dug deeper without a second thought.

  
His suit's black material was thin and clingy, enough that he could see a lot of the detail of his cock right through it if the light hit it right. It was shiny, sort of greasy-slick shiny, like he was oiled up or something. Sort of sexy, if he put his circumstances out of his mind, which of course he did. He was good at it by now. He kept his cock pressed to his belly for now, still inside the suit, and rested his balls in his palm, considering.

  
Maybe he'd been going about this wrong.

  
His problem was getting bad again, lately. He at least knew that much. There were more and more times where he'd have to just rub himself absolutely raw to get what he wanted, holding his breath longer and longer as his orgasm teased him, just out of reach. Then it would hit him, but by then, after fighting for it for what felt like hours, it would be weak and unsatisfying. Just a signal to start it all over again and try for a better one.

  
Maybe he just needed to aim for quality over quantity. There _was_ something he hadn't tried yet.

  
A pinprick of shame at the idea, but that was all there was. Just a pinprick. His cock perked right up, though, first stretching out the front of his suit like a sail and then freeing itself through the slit he'd made, all without the use of his hands. Even if he had let his shame put him on the fence, it looked like he was overruled.

  
If he was going to try this out, he had to prepare. First, he stood quickly and shimmied out of his ammo belts, letting them hit the floor with a resounding thud that echoed all the way across the big room and beyond. Not that anyone here was going to get on his ass about it. Next, he untied his red scarf thing and let it slip through his fingers to rest on top of his belts. Then he removed his yellow gloves.

  
He hadn't been planning this or anything, not until just a minute ago, but his corner was perfect for this. He couldn't have picked a better spot.

  
The cushions weren't quite right yet, though. He kicked them into place, further into the corner where the two walls met at an acute angle. Then he got into position.

  
It was harder than it looked. He sat down and slouched lower and lower until he'd have been lying flat if not for the lack of space between the two walls. Instead, his chin rested on his chest and the soles of his boots were planted flat against the wall he was facing, his spread knees nearly touching his ears. But he was nowhere near close enough.

  
The guy in the video he'd watched had gone further than this, so he had to, too. He wriggled, his suit squeaking and the opening he'd made ripping wider and wider with a low purr, until he was finally practically in a headstand. His weight rested on the back of his neck and shoulders, but his kneepads took some of it too, propped against the wall above his head.

  
He was _so_ close.

  
He grabbed the backs of his legs and hugged his knees to his chest, squeezing himself tighter and tighter without success. But even though he'd been slacking off lately with his workouts, he knew he'd only lost definition - it wasn't like he'd gained weight to get in the way or anything. Honestly, the real problem was that he'd have to be hung like a horse to make this work. The guy in the video had only been a little longer than him, but now that he'd tried it, he realized the guy must've been a gymnast or some shit. Somebody real bendy, anyway, bendy enough to make sucking your own dick look easy.

  
Akira was flexible. All the flips and shit he did in here were proof.

  
More than a pinprick of shame this time at _that_ train of thought. A small part of him bitched and moaned over how pathetic he was, but - overruled again - the rest of him just ran wild with it. Akira slowly undressing for him, one piece of clothing at a time, like he knew Ryuji was watching. Like he liked making him wait. Akira beckoning for him to follow, so he could show him how it was done. Akira folding himself in half and pulling off what he'd just been trying to do, effortlessly - not just pulling it off, but making it look good.

  
He relaxed and let gravity settle him into a more comfortable version of the weird ass in the air stance he'd wedged himself into, sliding his upper back and shoulders down to the floor again and leaving his ass against the far wall, the toes of his boots resting against the wall above his head. Felt weird, but it would do. Usually, at this point, he'd have himself in his fist, his hand just a blur, but this time he petted himself almost tenderly, still keeping the material of his suit as a barrier. If he wanted to test out his theory, he needed to go slow.

  
There was still one more thing he hadn't tried yet.

  
He stuck his finger in his mouth - it tasted like the inside of his glove, bleh - until it was coated with spit, then reached into the slit of his suit.

  
So far, most of his fantasies about Akira had been voyeuristic, or if Akira knew he was there, they were sort of just in the same room - not touching, but jerking off together. Or taking turns getting sucked off by a Shadow. Maybe it was just because he'd thought he was straight longer than he'd known he was bi, but his brain seemed stuck on that shit, like keeping Akira in his head like this was okay but making the leap to Akira touching him was off limits.

  
That was stupid, though. If he was going to do this, he might as well just go all the way.

  
He prodded himself experimentally. It was supposed to feel nicer than this. So far it was just uncomfortable. Rough. He spat onto his finger, spread it around with his thumb, and slipped it back inside himself.

  
He'd always liked Akira's hands.

  
Hands were a weird thing to focus on, maybe. But he only had so much to go by. When they'd worked out Akira had been sort of shy, changing in a stall while Ryuji just shucked off his clothing out in the open like most dudes did. They hadn't known each other that long, so he figured that was it.

  
So he'd only seen so much of Akira. Mostly just clothed. Shirtless, once, and that had definitely kept him going for some time. But Akira did have strong hands and clever fingers, always fiddling with something, like his brain and his hands were on two separate tracks.

  
Akira just _had_ to be better at this than he was.

  
He brought his free hand back up to his cock, and that made all the difference. He touched himself with just his fingertips, barely skimming the underside of his cock through the material, but his muscles relaxed immediately, letting his finger sink deeper inside without resistance. He grunted as his cock twitched, making his thumb accidentally brush the head of it without the material in the way, and that was it. He couldn't go back to teasing himself like that now. So much for taking his time.

  
"Oh, fuck... " he whispered. He played with his foreskin, circling himself with thumb and forefinger and driving his finger inside himself, deeper and harder, until something felt different.

  
"Ak- " Shit. That was close. Even if he was doing something like this to the Akira in his head, saying his name out loud in the Metaverse was going too far. The Thieves still didn't know what kind of consequences it might have, so they all avoided it religiously. Code names were the rule.

  
He found that spot inside himself again and stroked it carefully, trying to figure out the weird sensations it caused. It felt best for now if he was gentle with it while he kept his other hand moving, so that was what he did. It quickly went from feeling mechanical and awkward to something much better, especially if he brought Akira back into it.

  
There wouldn't have been any room for Akira in the tiny space he'd stuffed himself into, but useless details like that had never stopped him before. Akira was peering down at him from between Ryuji's thighs now, holding him upright in this weird upside down position against his knees and chest, and fuck, his face was so -

  
"Joker... "

  
He curled his finger inside himself, in time with his other hand's slow, steady strokes, and was actually a little disappointed at how close he was already.

  
Way too soon. He slowed down even more and stopped to lick the palm of his hand, not even minding the glove taste now, then returned it to his cock, slicking himself thoroughly. He couldn't come yet. Akira would be disappointed.

  
He focused on that empty space between his legs and kept his finger moving.

  
"Fuck... fuck... fuck... " he muttered in time with his thrusts, then laughed when he realized that he was basically just narrating his own actions, more or less. Akira's actions. Akira grinned too, and then he _winked,_ fingering him harder to let him know it was okay for him to come, that he _wanted_ him to come, and then Ryuji couldn't hold back any longer. He pumped himself roughly - nothing teasing about it now - squeezing the head and gritting his teeth with his eyes shut tight until -

  
He hadn't really thought this far ahead.

  
But it was good. The best he'd had in recent memory. He laid limp, his weight supported by his ass leaning against the opposite wall and his neck and upper back on the floor, and let himself go.

  
He let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief but recoiled when he realized he'd managed to get himself in the face. _That_ hadn't happened before. And now it was in his mouth.

  
But his idiot brain seized on it, delighted. The taste was stronger than he'd expected, and it was his _own_ \- ugh - but his brain was already spinning out new scenarios for him to wallow in for next time. It hadn't been him. It had been Akira. Akira probably liked this sort of shit - humiliation, or whatever this would fall under - and that was the real reason why he was so cold to him lately. It was just an act. Akira hid how he felt about him with that arms length thing he did, the nice but not close act, but when he got Ryuji alone, Akira had him right where he wanted him. Akira was kinkier than he thought, that was all. Akira liked -

  
There was a tiny sound, or an impact, felt more through the floor than heard, off to his side. Just outside his little corner, where no Shadow had ever patrolled before.

  
So much for that nice little afterglow he'd been enjoying. Panic squeezed his heart as he scrambled upright and barrelled out into the larger room, staring wildly left and right.

  
He almost didn't catch it. If he'd been one second slower, he'd have missed it entirely. But he was just in time to glimpse it disappearing around a corner in the far corner of the room.

  
It was a fluffy white tail, bright blue in the shadows.

  
Aw, fuck.


	4. Liminal Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we'll go with Sunday updates for this one.

Yusuke panicked.

  
Of course it would have been better if Ryuji hadn't caught him observing him, but now that he had, he should have come out and addressed him directly. That would have been the most logical thing to do, since they still had to see each other and work together during every infiltration. Instead he hid like a coward, watching with his heart in his throat as Ryuji pleaded and raged with the Palace at large, never paying any mind to the fact that he was still indecent. Or to the fact that the Shadows were tracking his every movement, each of their featureless faces following him eerily in unison as if on a swivel.

  
He hid atop a bank of tall cabinets, stretched full length on his belly to avoid being seen, where he had a good view of Ryuji panicking himself.

  
At least, that's what he appeared to be doing. He strode back and forth, clutching at his hair with both hands and talking to himself. Yusuke couldn't make out much more than a stream of profanity, most of it made up of something that sounded like, "I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm _fucked - "_

  
He had only been acquainted with Ryuji for a few weeks, and neither seemed to have made the most favourable impression on the other, if he had to guess. They'd come to anticipate each other in battle quickly enough, and Ryuji had gone out of his way to cover him when he could while Yusuke was still learning, just as the others had, but it didn't extend beyond that. During their Thieves meetings in the Shibuya walkway, his attempts at conversation with the others were met with silence or awkward, polite smiles, until he stopped trying and only contributed when the topic was Madarame. And for his part, he found Ryuji difficult to gauge. He could tip from deadly serious to outraged to laughing raucously without a second's notice. At first Yusuke had interpreted his mood as anger more often than not, usually without apparent cause, until he'd realized that the obscenities Ryuji used freely did not necessarily indicate how he was feeling.

  
Ryuji was interesting, in his way. There was certainly no one like him at Kosei. Yusuke liked to juxtapose him with Ann when he caught them next to each other during their meetings, or on the train, or during battle in the Metaverse. Ann was grace itself, soft and flowing but strong, too; she was classically beautiful but otherwise had little in common with the passive muses found in the paintings he studied in class. But Ryuji was angular and harsh. If he painted him, it would be a challenge to the viewer: not an invitation to look closer but a dare, a _provocation._

  
When Ann and Ryuji were in close proximity, just as likely to be trading barbs as laughing together, he often framed their composition. Ryuji's jutting limbs led the eye to her curves, and her hands, animated in conversation, led the eye back up to their faces. Ann was captivating in any disposition, but Ryuji was intriguing, too - he had an actor's face, or perhaps a comedian's, capable of an incredible range of expressions and never at rest for long.

  
If he focused on the shapes made by Ryuji's features as he spoke to Ann, what Ryuji was actually saying was less likely to register, which was just fine with him.

  
Now Ryuji had sunk to his knees, his face cradled in his hands. He seemed to be whimpering, still muttering to himself and still fully on display.

  
It was bizarre, frankly.

  
Yusuke had been alerted to his presence by a tremendous clap, similar to thunder, that echoed across the high-ceilinged room, all the way to where he'd been assessing his latest alterations to Madarame's portrait of him. It was routine now for him to spend part of each afternoon after school on his project, and he'd come to think of it as his warmup. It no longer felt foreign to make an incision with his katana, plot out the day's redline as his glove filled, and then lay down his lines in blood. When that canvas was complete, he'd simply leave the Metaverse and switch to another, this one on his easel in the shack, and he found that he was able to enter a state of deep concentration much more quickly than before. His work had been going well lately, markedly better than it had after he'd first learned of Madarame's deception, and though he'd never been prone to superstition, he'd begun to think of his warmup as something like a lucky charm - not technically _necessary_ for productive work later in the day, but something fortuitous nonetheless. A good habit to fall into.

  
He had come here several times now with only his warmup on his mind, but nothing had ever shattered the respectful silence of the Palace like the sound he'd heard today.

  
He'd made his way stealthily in its direction with real fear drying his mouth and quickening his step, trying to imagine what could have changed in the Palace, and what that might mean for their infiltrations - had his redlines finally made a permanent change? And if they had, was it one that put the other Thieves at risk? He was imagining something horrendous waiting for him, some gargantuan terror capable of that heartstopping boom that still echoed in his head, but he'd almost missed the source of it as he approached the washrooms in the corner of the room.

  
His eye fell first on the black shape quivering - a Shadow? - beyond the washrooms, the edge of it just in view from where he was crouching. The next thing he made out was a tangled mass of objects next to it, black and red and yellow, and he still couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. His ears gave him a clue.

  
"Oh, fuck... "

  
Say what you would about the Shadows that stalked the halls of the Palace, but he had never heard them utter profanity before.

  
He inched closer, finally able to make out the curve of the back, here, and the elbow protruding out to the side, there, moving rhythmically as the hand -

  
Oh.

  
He couldn't actually see what that hand was doing, but he didn't need to. Even though Ryuji's foul mouth sometimes mystified him even now, the acoustics of the corner he'd wedged himself into filled in the blanks.

  
Ryuji was making some truly embarrassing noises now, in between the obscenities. This was something he shouldn't be listening to. It was clear that Ryuji thought he was alone.

  
But he remained where he was, now less than a dozen feet away. His feet were rooted to the floor.

  
A long, rattling sigh, the epitome of satisfaction, startled him enough to finally thaw him. His left hand twitched, and his glove, half filled with his blood, struck the floor with a noise that turned his stomach. He was already halfway across the cavernous room again before it fully settled, his long legs eating up the distance.

  
But a headstart wouldn't be enough. Ryuji was an athlete, a runner of some kind, although it also seemed to be a sore spot for him for some reason - regardless, Yusuke knew enough to realize that given an unobstructed course, there was no way he could outpace him. Concealing his presence and waiting it out was a better idea.

  
In the end, he needn't have worried. He quickly pulled ahead, turned a few corners, found the cabinets and was able to slide into position atop them in near silence. He remembered his eyecatching mask at the last second and removed it, then obscured as much of his pale face as he could with his dark sleeve. Ryuji's cursing preceded him, and when he came into view, Yusuke soon realized why - apparently trying to run without the support of his suit intact was an uncomfortable experience, judging by the way he moved as he attempted to hold himself immobile. He came to a stop and leaned against the wall with one hand, peering into the corners of the room while Yusuke looked on from the shadows above.

  
It hadn't occurred to him until now that Ryuji might be trying to wait _him_ out.

  
He couldn't have picked up on his actual location, at least, though he did seem convinced that Yusuke was in the general vicinity. More profanity, more desperate muttering, more pacing in circles, but Ryuji always remained within earshot. Here and there, Yusuke heard his Metaverse name uttered in a pleading tone, as well as bits and pieces of promises and threats in equal measure, though much of it was incoherent.

  
Yusuke made himself comfortable. His left side grew warm, and he found it weirdly pleasant, like sitting next to a heater in the winter months, until he realized it was only his own blood. Usually his incision would be more or less closed by now, but sprinting from Ryuji had opened it again. But he'd had worse. Over time, after drawing blood from his arm day after day, he'd come to understand that the pain, though present, was more distant in the Metaverse. His arm was still seeping blood, and the pain did make itself known, but he had a feeling it was easier to ignore than a similar wound might have been in the real world. He took care to stretch out his arm and position the cut above his heart as best he could, then resumed his vigil.

  
Ryuji was likely banking on the fact that Yusuke would have to pass through this room in order to leave the Palace. He got comfortable himself, sitting cross-legged and shameless in the centre of the floor, and Yusuke had a moment to wonder if he tried for vulgarity or if he was just naturally gifted in that field before drifting off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  
It was difficult to wake up.

  
He couldn't figure out where he was. The surface he was lying face down upon was hard - metal? - but he felt warm and comfortable, as though wrapped in a blanket. He stirred, stretching his legs, but that was strange, too; he had never gone to sleep while wearing his shoes before. He forced his eyes open with an effort, but couldn't make out much beyond a dark, featureless wall in front of him.

  
In the distance, he heard a tinny, prerecorded speech extolling the virtues of one of Madarame's pieces, and the shock of it nearly made him roll right off of the cabinet he was lying on top of.

  
What happened to you if you fell asleep inside a cognitive structure, one that belonged to someone else? And even that was minimizing it. He hadn't fallen asleep. He had _lost consciousness._

  
Metaverse or not, the wave of nausea that rolled through him when he heard the wet slap of his blood soaked sleeve against the metal cabinet made him cry out, equal parts disgust and something approaching hysteria.

  
Ryuji was the last of his worries. His left arm felt heavy and inflamed, throbbing down to the bone the instant he moved it, and it was difficult to make it respond. He hugged it to his chest, shuddering at the sound of the blood trapped in the folds of his sleeve pattering down to his lap, and tried to make it to the floor. He stumbled, but managed to fall to his knees and avoided jostling his arm more than necessary.

  
Just when he would have truly welcomed the sight of him, awkward questions and all, Ryuji was nowhere to be found. He was alone.

  
Here it was night, always night, night without end, and the thought that accompanied that realization coated him with cold sweat, instantaneously, as if at the flick of a switch. The hairs at the back of his neck shivered upright.

  
How long had he been unconscious?

  
The Metaverse felt like a challenge, a surmountable one, when he explored it with four others at his side, all more experienced and competent than he was. If he had a question, Morgana had an answer, and for the rare times there was no answer, the cat speculated, his deductions always based on careful observation. And Akira had high expectations, but he was understanding, too; the night that Yusuke awakened Goemon, Akira had kept his failing strength in mind, protecting him from Shadows with the others during their escape from the Palace.

  
He'd come alone. There was no one to protect him now, and time moved differently here. There was nothing to stop him from losing consciousness for hours, days - forever, his mind whispered - and finding out the consequences of the lost time terrified him as much as the blood did.

  
His body had never felt so weak here. Even now, a slow yet constant flow of blood trickled down his arm and dripped from his bare fingertips. Now he looked mismatched, as if he were wearing one of his own blue gloves on his right hand and one of Akira's red ones on his left.

  
Just the short drop from the cabinet to the floor, normally so trivial, had left him light-headed.

  
Some of that could likely be attributed to the panic that gripped him. He realized that in addition to panting rapidly, he'd begun whining in short gasps, like a hurt animal - which was what he _was,_ in essence. An animal in a trap. He was unable to stop.

  
He knelt on the floor, in open view of any Shadow that might decide to investigate the noise he'd made, and hyperventilated as his mind spun out, eager to fill in the gaps in his knowledge with the most lurid possibilities.

  
If your Metaverse self was only cognitive, what happened to your physical body when you entered the Metaverse? His arm had been restored, his skin unmarked and clean of blood, every time he'd returned. But while he'd left the Palace with injuries many times, he'd never lost consciousness here. If his cognitive self lost consciousness, what remained to link his cognitive self with his physical?

  
Had he severed that link?

  
The cognitive world had rules, arbitrary though they seemed at first. It was possible that he'd flouted them without ever knowing the price.

  
His hand shaking, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and fumbled it with his blood slicked fingers, letting out another feeble cry as it clattered to the floor between his knees.

  
There was a soft sound in the dim room beyond, perhaps twenty feet away.

  
A Shadow was watching him, one of the ones that took the shape of a cartoonishly exaggerated security guard. It took one step toward him. Then another.

  
He'd left his katana on top of the bank of cabinets, of course. His assault rifle, too.

  
There was no time to wonder if he was flinging his cognitive self into the blackness between the two worlds without a body prepared to catch it. He seized his phone in both hands, shut his eyes tight, and pressed the Nav.

  
When he opened his eyes, he stood not in front of the shack, where he would have usually arrived, but on its second story balcony. His body was whole, just as it was every other time he'd returned from the Metaverse, but instead of long rays of afternoon sunlight, he was met with full dark - at least, what passed for it in Tokyo. It was the hour before dawn. He knew because he could hear a single bird singing its song somewhere down the street, as yet unanswered.

  
He put his phone, now free of blood, into his pocket with one hand and clapped the other over his mouth - he'd nearly groaned out loud in mingled relief and dismay. Instead he exhaled sharply and sank down until he was kneeling, then let himself go limp the rest of the way. He curled on his side, feeling the morning dew soak through his shirt, and laid there until he was able to get his shaking under control.

  
Now he needed to worry about what he would tell Madarame. His mind was utterly blank. There was not a single legitimate reason for him to be out until the early hours of the morning, and even if there had been, he hadn't even called home. He braced himself for another difficult conversation and rose to his feet. Maybe he could pass it off as mere forgetfulness, somehow, and get away with profuse apologies.

  
He had avoided punishment for years at a time - observing the other students had been deterrance enough. The stakes were so much higher now that he couldn't begin to guess at what might happen if Madarame was given reason to wonder where he had been for hours and hours, under cover of darkness.

  
He had to remain still for another minute or two, focusing on his breathing. If Madarame began to suspect Yusuke and the other Thieves, it wouldn't matter if they completed their infiltration of his cognitive Palace before the exhibit downtown was over. His time would be up.

  
Luckily, the balcony led to the room he painted in, not to Madarame's bedroom. He pulled himself up and stood, still feeling weak and unsteady on his feet, then removed his shoes. He unlocked and slid the glass door open an inch at a time to ensure silence, then padded toward the room he slept in with his shoes in his hand.

  
His path led him past the stairway leading down to the first floor and the entryway. He could see clearly that there were no shoes laid out there.

  
Madarame had not come home last night.

  
His silence was for nothing. His panic in the Metaverse had been for nothing. He'd hidden from his teammate like a coward, and risked exsanguination, and invited a Shadow to take his life, and it was all for _nothing._ He dropped the pair of shoes he was carrying to the floorboards with a sonorous thud that echoed throughout the entire empty shack, not so different from the noise Ryuji had made in the Palace. Then he swept his foot and kicked them down the stairs with all his strength, simultaneously feeling like a child throwing a tantrum but also not regretting it.

  
Now there was a long, ugly splinter angling out into the stairwell, just waiting to snag someone's clothing. Good.

  
He left his shoes where they fell, one on the landing and the other upside down in the entranceway, and sat on the bare wooden floor in the room where he slept.

  
He sat, letting long minutes tick by as he idly rubbed his upper arm through his shirt, where he had been bleeding freely not so long ago. He closed his eyes. Then he got up, arranged his shoes neatly in the entranceway, and removed the jagged splinter from the stairwell. He rolled out his futon and laid down, still dressed.

  
The bird outside was joined by others, and the grey dawn crept in. In time, he fell asleep.

  
\----------

  
RYUJI: quit fuckin ignoring me  
RYUJI: we need to talk

  
Yusuke sat on the floor of the room he slept in once more, scrolling through a deluge of unanswered chat messages, seemingly without end.

  
Somehow, he'd managed to get through the day at Kosei, though it would be a lie to say that he'd been fully present. Before, his redlines to Madarame's portrait of him had left him satisfied, as though it were a perfunctory but not altogether unpleasant task to get out of the way before his more creative work could begin in the shack. But with the way things had gone yesterday, it was difficult to concentrate on his work. When he'd needed to come up with a concept for an assignment in class, his mind had begun to wander down a rather gory train of thought before he'd managed to pull himself together again. Even barring yesterday's events, the Metaverse could be shockingly brutal, filled with blood and adrenaline and near-fatal close calls, and he fervently wished to keep it in its place.

  
His concentration was poor. Most of his work that day would have to be redone. And every time he'd checked his phone to catch up on the Thieves' group chat, or to find out the time, the number of private chat messages from Ryuji had increased.

  
On the whole, they weren't that dissimilar from what Ryuji had been muttering in the Palace while Yusuke lay hidden. There were threats to tell Akira and the other Thieves about what Yusuke had been up to, though they were toothless at best and laughable at worst given that Ryuji had then followed them up with more than one plea for Yusuke to keep silent about what _he_ had been up to. There were even text versions of his stream of consciousness ranting in the Palace, along the lines of "oh fuck, I'm so fucked", and those really confused him. Did Ryuji intend to send those? How were you supposed to respond to something like that? He kept scrolling, unsure of how to proceed.

  
RYUJI: i can see you're online, you know

  
A new notification from Ryuji startled him enough to drop his phone into his lap. He retrieved it and answered without further deliberation.

  
YUSUKE: You can? I wasn't aware.  
RYUJI: yeah man. your icon is lit up  
RYUJI: are you done ignorin me?  
YUSUKE: But I wasn't ignoring you. I was in class.

  
It was strange. He hadn't set out to lie. But telling Ryuji that the reason he had avoided answering his chat messages all day long, even though he could have found the time on the train or during breaks between classes, was because he couldn't think of how to explain himself didn't seem like a valid option either.

  
YUSUKE: It is difficult to check your phone when you have paint on your hands.  
RYUJI: got paint on your hands now?  
YUSUKE: No. My hands are clean.  
RYUJI: then i think we got shit to discuss

  
There was a long pause until Ryuji gave in first.

  
RYUJI: you gonna tell akira?  
YUSUKE: About?  
RYUJI: me going to the palace alone, dumbass  
YUSUKE: It'd be foolish of me to bring it up to him, since you know I was there to do the same.  
RYUJI: uh, i kinda doubt you were doin the same thing i was, tbh

  
TBH? The acronym confused him, but Ryuji was already changing the subject.

  
RYUJI: actually, i was gonna ask about that too  
RYUJI: a shadow must've gotten you pretty good, huh?

  
His mind had gone more blank than ever. He stalled.

  
YUSUKE: Oh. Are you referring to my arm?  
RYUJI: yeah man. blood everywhere  
RYUJI: i saw a change on that picture of you too  
RYUJI: check it out next time we go with the thieves. maybe it means somethin to madarame, i dunno. i don't get this art stuff  
RYUJI: but uh  
RYUJI: you should be more careful  
RYUJI: right?

  
A slight pause, between one message and the next, as he wondered how to answer.

  
RYUJI: around the shadows?

  
He still found social niceties difficult to comprehend. There hadn't been time for that, growing up with the other pupils in the shack, beyond basic lessons in the proper method to convey respect for his betters, which had of course been every other person there. So the way Ryuji had leapt from expressing concern over his wound to mentioning the redline he'd left that day on his portrait confused him. He'd hoped to keep his redlining practice private, but now that Ryuji had brought it up, he expected to hear some kind of condemnation from him. Shock, perhaps, that Yusuke would injure himself simply to alter a painting that would revert to its original form the next day.

  
Instead, Ryuji had taken care to mention the two seemingly disparate subjects, his wound and the painting, in the same breath without ever expressly stating that Yusuke had inflicted one to alter the other. He left their connection unspoken, letting him know that he knew but seeming to indicate that if Yusuke preferred to pass his injury off as the result of a run-in with a Shadow, he would leave it at that.

  
Clearly Yusuke had misjudged him.

  
YUSUKE: Yes. You are correct. I'll be more careful in the future.  
YUSUKE: Thank you for your concern.  
RYUJI: anyway. i guess that's not all i'm worried about  
RYUJI: with akira, I mean

  
He waited for him to explain himself.

  
RYUJI: you're gonna make me say it, huh?  
RYUJI: i need to know you're not gonna tell him about what i was doin by the washrooms  
RYUJI: by myself

  
Another long pause.

  
RYUJI: for fuck's sake yusuke  
RYUJI: why are you like this

  
He relented. If Ryuji could show him the courtesy of leaving his awkward situation unspoken, then he could do the same for him.

  
YUSUKE: I suppose I can imagine what you were occupied with.

  
But courtesy only went so far. Over the last few weeks, the Thieves had taken him under their wing, teaching him everything they knew about the Metaverse and battle with Shadows. All four of them had gently teased him now and then as they did, and Ryuji was no exception. It was an interesting feeling, to have the opportunity to tease him about something instead.

  
In fact, if he thought about it, he had never really had anyone to tease about anything before. And now that he was sitting in the room he slept in safe and sound, unscathed once more, there _was_ a certain humour to the situation.

  
Ryuji's situation, at least.

  
YUSUKE: It was written all over your face, after all.  
RYUJI: i mean, with my suit ripped open like that, it'd be easy to guess  
YUSUKE: Oh, no. I meant that quite literally.  
YUSUKE: If not your face, then your Skull mask, I suppose.

  
It was possible that Ryuji was too close to see the humour of the situation.

  
RYUJI: are you fucking shitting me rn. are you  
RYUJI: are you joking??? i can't even fuckin tell with you  
RYUJI: and like. ARE you gonna tell Akira? or are you just gonna hold this over my head for another day or two  
YUSUKE: Why would I do a thing like that? I have no intention of telling him.  
YUSUKE: I meant what I said. Your secret is safe with me.  
RYUJI: well. good, then. i guess  
RYUJI: uh. if you already know everything, then i think i better ask to make sure  
RYUJI: what did you hear?  
YUSUKE: I have to admit, I find this a strange topic to discuss with you.  
YUSUKE: Is this something you bring up with the other Thieves? Your... habits?  
RYUJI: forget it then  
RYUJI: if you're just gonna be a dick about it  
RYUJI: you think i like talking about this with you?

  
He realized that this was the first time he'd ever had such a long conversation with Ryuji, in person or otherwise, and that he might have managed to incite genuine anger in him this time, though he still found it difficult to tell for certain.

  
YUSUKE: I apologize. It was not my intent to  
YUSUKE: Be... a dick?  
YUSUKE: I'm not sure I understand what it is you want to know, however.  
RYUJI: ugh. this is so fuckin embarrassin  
RYUJI: okay, you heard me though, right?  
YUSUKE: I did.  
RYUJI: what did i say?

  
He often felt awkward and ill-equipped for interactions with others in his day to day life, and now was no exception. Perhaps this was a situation that called for the same tact Ryuji had already shown him.

  
YUSUKE: I don't recall.

  
He had guessed wrong.

  
RYUJI: no, seriously  
RYUJI: it's important, or i wouldn't ask, okay?  
YUSUKE: Ah.  
YUSUKE: Your usual level of profanity.  
YUSUKE: I believe you laughed at some point.  
YUSUKE: There were some noises.

  
This conversation was taking both of them to some strange places.

  
YUSUKE: Is this legitimately important, or do you have ulterior motives in asking me this?  
RYUJI: yes, yusuke, i fuckin love this  
RYUJI: i'm gettin off to it right now  
RYUJI: fuck

  
Even he could tell this was sarcasm.

  
RYUJI: i should ask you the same thing  
RYUJI: you're really draggin this out, actually  
RYUJI: how long were you just standin there watching me?  
RYUJI: bet you liked it  
YUSUKE: Excuse me?  
RYUJI: ha. knew it  
RYUJI: you into dudes?

  
It took a moment for him to even understand what he'd been asked, and a longer moment to formulate an answer.

  
YUSUKE: I am attracted to beauty.  
RYUJI: psht. that's not an answer  
YUSUKE: I beg to differ.  
YUSUKE: Have I ever called you beautiful?  
RYUJI: lol  
RYUJI: ouch  
RYUJI: fair enough  
RYUJI: okay, fine. i'll say it  
RYUJI: i just wanted to know if i said joker or not  
YUSUKE: Oh.  
YUSUKE: Yes, I think I did hear you say that.

  
An unexpected wave of sympathy hit him.

  
YUSUKE: I'm sorry. I shouldn't have approached.  
YUSUKE: Forgive me, but I thought you were a Shadow at first.  
RYUJI: fuckin nasty shadow lmao  
RYUJI: no, i just wanted to know if i said akira instead of joker  
RYUJI: i nearly did  
RYUJI: we don't know what would happen if we say our real names in the palaces, right?  
RYUJI: so i just wanted to make sure  
YUSUKE: I understand. I'm fairly certain it was only 'Joker'.  
YUSUKE: Does he know how you feel for him?

  
He blinked in surprise at his own message - he hadn't realized he was going to ask something so personal. But Ryuji didn't deflect him the way he expected him to. It was possible that he was a more honest person than he'd given him credit for.

  
RYUJI: no  
RYUJI: no, maybe he does. it's bad if he does though  
RYUJI: he's straight

  
He weighed tact with honesty again, and this time, honesty won.

  
YUSUKE: I'm not sure I should tell you this. And I don't know anything for certain.  
YUSUKE: Akira has not told me much about himself. Not so much in words, at least.  
RYUJI: just tell me man  
YUSUKE: I have observed Akira meeting with a wide variety of people at night.  
YUSUKE: An impressive variety, actually.  
RYUJI: ?  
YUSUKE: There is an older woman that I have seen him enter a bar with in the red light district, on more than one occasion.  
YUSUKE: And a much older man in a suit insists on buying him dinner at a beef bowl establishment from time to time. Again, I have seen this occur more than once. They are not careful about being overheard.  
YUSUKE: And there is a boy in a Shujin uniform that he meets with regularly as well, in Shibuya. The last time I was within earshot, he offered to take Akira out to an expensive buffet, and refused to let him pay for his portion.

  
He was a slow typist compared to Ryuji, but Ryuji did not interrupt him, only answering when he had finished.

  
RYUJI: i think that one's just mishima  
RYUJI: phan-site dude  
RYUJI: i'm not worried about him  
RYUJI: but, like. you follow him or somethin? akira? that's kinda creepy  
YUSUKE: Are you in a position to criticize?  
RYUJI: are you defending it then?  
YUSUKE: I suppose I could approach him and say hello when I catch sight of him again. I didn't wish to intrude.  
YUSUKE: I don't follow him, no. But I have found it difficult to be comfortable here lately.  
RYUJI: the shack?  
YUSUKE: Yes. So I have kept a small sum of money in reserve to use as additional fare for the evenings.  
YUSUKE: The red light district in particular makes for good people watching.  
RYUJI: uh, yeah. i bet it does

  
This time he didn't lie, exactly, but he did keep a little of the truth to himself. While he wasn't in the practice of following Akira, he had taken to anticipating his presence at certain times, in certain places. Lately his redlining had more or less replaced the time he had spent looking for Akira out of the corner of his eye, careful to maintain a safe distance as he watched him meet with a different person each night. He'd thought of it as 'running into' him, as though you could spend time with a person just by being in their vicinity and never making your presence known. But Ryuji didn't need to know that.

  
YUSUKE: Morgana is easy to spot, and a Shujin uniform is unusual to see in the red light district. So I imagine that's the reason Akira is easy to pick out of the crowd.  
YUSUKE: Although he does not always bring Morgana with him.  
RYUJI: okay  
RYUJI: fuck  
RYUJI: way to rub it in  
RYUJI: you really think he has a... a what, a sugar daddy?  
RYUJI: like, how much older was the beef bowl guy?  
YUSUKE: He was in his mid forties, by my estimate.  
RYUJI: ugh  
YUSUKE: What is a sugar daddy?  
RYUJI: i don't really feel like explainin that right now, man  
YUSUKE: There's another woman he spends time with in the red light district. I think she is closer to him in age. Though I would judge her to be an adult as well.  
RYUJI: okay i get it  
RYUJI: wow  
RYUJI: this sorta makes akira sound, uh  
RYUJI: like he's not very picky  
RYUJI: guess i can't compete with some old guy with  
RYUJI: like, beef bowl money? seriously? fuck  
YUSUKE: I don't want to mislead you. I haven't witnessed any overt signs of affection in public.  
RYUJI: still. shit  
RYUJI: anyway. i gotta go  
RYUJI: your arm was okay, right? that was kind of a lot of blood  
YUSUKE: Yes. It healed itself upon my return, just as it always does.  
RYUJI: uh?  
RYUJI: okay nvm. ttyl

  
He stared at the letters, trying to figure out their meaning, and was about to ask when he realized Ryuji had left their chat.


	5. Peace Offering

Ryuji was already on the train, on his way to the museum, after making a few purchases at the drug store.

  
Maybe it was just relief that was putting him in such a good mood. He'd simmered quietly all day, his knee jittering under his desk for hours on end, and for once he was glad that he didn't know anyone in his class. He'd always felt kind of jealous of Akira, Ann and Morgana, all chummy together down the hall while all he got was a lot of suspicious looks from his classmates. But at least today it meant that he didn't have to face any awkward questions about why he was so amped up.

  
It was sort of hard to relax when some guy who couldn't be assed to check his messages held your fate in his hands.

  
After all that stress, though, their chat went better than he'd been expecting, so much better that he actually felt pretty good. Yusuke wasn't going to turn him in, and he hadn't said Akira's real name in the museum after all. Yusuke was even pretty decent about it. He could've really twisted the knife, after seeing Ryuji like that, but he didn't. Yusuke was still kind of weird, but it looked like he might be a decent guy after all. In his way.

  
He didn't have a lot of funds on him, but with what he did have, he'd bought two little presents. One for himself, and one for Yusuke.

  
When he hit the Nav, he had the white bag from the drug store in his hand, but by the time he wavered into the Metaverse, the pockets of his plasticky suit bulged with what he'd brought instead. No trash allowed in a museum as swank as this, apparently. He patted the one for Yusuke, a rectangular box in his left pocket that dug into his leg a bit through his suit, then patted the one for himself, a tiny little flattened cylinder sort of shape in his right pocket. Then he glanced up at the fake parking lot in front of him expectantly.

  
Uh.

  
He laughed, loud, all by himself out in the permanight, feeling stupid but no less cheerful. Thinking about Yusuke didn't _summon_ him. Yusuke'd been on his mind all day long, first as the source of his panic until he'd answered his chat notifications, and then as the source of his relief after he'd told him he wasn't going to rat on him to Akira. After school, he'd chatted with him for like an hour on his phone in his room before he'd headed out again and hit the drug store, but in all that time, Ryuji hadn't asked him if he was headed to the museum once. He'd just assumed, and had even expected to see him out here in the parking lot where they all hung out before infiltrations. Like they were going to meet up to do one all on their own, an infiltration of two instead of five.

  
Maybe he'd just have to go and check if he was here, then. His bulging pockets felt uncomfortable, but having his hands free did make it easier to scale the wall and drop through the skylight.

  
He couldn't quite pin down whether Yusuke was trying to hide his weird blood thing, poorly, or if he just didn't give a shit if Ryuji found out. If he _was_ trying to hide it, he was a real shitty liar - in their chat he'd just gone right out and told him that he'd come to the museum more than once. Something about his arm healing up same as usual, meaning he'd sliced himself open here before.

  
It was sort of hard to keep smiling after that came to mind. Was this a cutting kind of thing? Yusuke was going through some shit, and he'd said some pretty bleak things right off the bat, almost as soon as the Thieves had started to get to know him. You probably didn't tell near-strangers shit like that if you were feeling fine. He'd seemed okay during their chat but if the underlying reason for that cut on his arm was something like _that,_ his little present seemed extra inadequate. Insulting, even.

  
His feet took him right to his corner, like he was on an invisible track just like the museum staff were, and his fingers traced over the little flattened cylinder shape in his right pocket, flipping it over and over.

  
He could hold out, though. This time. And he wasn't really looking for a repeat of yesterday. Yesterday, he'd given in like he always did, but today might be different. He'd held out all day again, morning til now, because he'd had nothing on his mind but Yusuke and the look Akira would have on his face as he gave Ryuji the news that he was off the team. Sorry, you've got this sick power that nobody else has, but we can't trust you. You're too fucking unstable, if you're going to hide away in a cognitive pocket universe and risk everything just to jack it like a fucking degenerate. You're just a shit for brains fuckup, and if we let you hang around, it might rub off. Maybe it's catching.

  
Tough luck, buddy. See you at school, maybe.

  
That's what Akira would want to say. That's what he'd be _thinking._ But he'd give Ryuji the nice act instead, because he was like that. But the result would be the same either way.

  
His cock twitched, half awake, as he stared down at his corner, empty and bare without its cushions.

  
Today was different, though. He was going to hold out.

  
He cupped his hands to his mouth and barked out, "Fox! Hey, _Fox!"_ He put his mind on his voice instead of his cock and turned around. His feet led him away.

  
You could get some good echoes in here, especially in these big high ceilinged rooms. The guards' non-faces tracked him like satellite dishes as he kept going, wandering across the room at his own pace, but they never so much as took a step towards him. Hell, maybe they _liked_ him. A little entertainment on a long, boring shift. They were like him, probably. Not really into art. This was just a job for them, and he wasn't hurting anything, so they were going to let him be.

  
He filled his lungs and cranked up the volume until his voice boomed back in a wall of sound. "Faaaaah-haaaaawks... " he sang out.

  
He grinned and strutted across the glossy waxed floor like he was as big as his voice was. It had been another day where he'd gone without speaking, like he was some kind of goddamn monk. Vow of silence or whatever. But now he could be loud.

  
Was there _any_ place you were allowed to be as loud as you wanted? Not really. Not if you lived in the city. You could be in the dead centre of the biggest park in Tokyo in the middle of the night, but if you yelled like _this,_ you'd piss off a hundred people, easy. He realized he had no idea of what kind of volume he was even capable of, since he'd never had the opportunity to try, and decided to test it.

  
"Yo, _Fox!_ You here?!" Loud enough to make his voice sound strained, like he was pissed off. Yusuke was weird and flighty - he'd hidden from him, yesterday, until Ryuji had finally given up and gone home, and he still couldn't figure out why - so that wasn't going to work if he wanted him to ever show his face.

  
He went even louder but tried to adjust his tone as best he could. "I got somethin' for ya! Come over here!" Now he sounded like he was calling for a dog. Here boy. C'mere Fox. Got a treat for you.

  
And maybe this was his limit, anyway. He felt something move in his throat, making his last word or two come out funny. Off key.

  
He cleared his throat and tried again, still loud but not full volume anymore. "Faaaaaawks?" Now his voice was rough and husky, like - He laughed, and the sound of _that_ made him laugh harder. Now he sounded like some sexy jazz lady in a lounge somewhere, one of the ones in a glitzy dress who sounded like she had a cold all the time.

  
He'd reached a low ceilinged, carpeted corridor, between the big rooms with the exhibits, so he kept his voice down but kept calling out as he went. "Fox?" Sexy jazz lady? More like a cicada, maybe. He laughed again, enjoying the rough rasp of it, and kept going.

  
Still no Yusuke. He rounded a corner and closed in on the picture of him, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  
No Yusuke, but no blood today, either.

  
"Hey Fox. You around?" His throat didn't hurt, exactly, but it did feel tight, and he still had a burr at the back of his words, so he decided to knock it off before he lost his voice. If Yusuke was in the museum, he'd definitely have heard him by now. He'd have to be deaf not to.

  
Now that Akira wasn't here to rush him past it, and now that it wasn't all marked up with blood, he took a moment to study the picture.

  
It wasn't a bad painting. You could tell it was Yusuke. He'd seen pictures of famous paintings shown on the news, or on websites, that looked like a half-done smear laid on thick with a shovel or something, and those went for hundreds of millions. This one was better than that, in his opinion. Maybe kind of boring though. It just showed him looking out at you, hands folded in front, like he was waiting for you to be done staring at him.

  
He didn't really get why Yusuke hated it so much. Someone painting you was supposed to be a compliment, wasn't it? And his was way bigger than all the paintings of the rest of Madarame's pupils, off in their own room further in. The painting of Yusuke even had its own little area so you couldn't help but see it if you wanted to keep going.

  
Who knew. Yusuke was an artist. Artists were weird. Maybe he had a thing about getting his picture taken. This was probably kind of like that, to him.

  
The thing he'd bought for him was really starting to dig into him through his pocket, though, so he pulled it out, trying not to mess up the cardboard box too much, and set it on the floor in front of the picture of Yusuke. If he was here and cowering in a vent somewhere, or whatever he'd done last time, then he'd have to come by this way to leave, and he'd probably spot the box, small though it was. It was mostly white, standing out in the gloom just like bits of Yusuke himself did. And if he'd never been in here at all, it didn't matter if the box disappeared when Ryuji left - it was just cheap shit anyway. He could buy him some more next time.

  
One more look at the picture. Yusuke was smiling in this one, just about the only time Ryuji had ever seen him do it. It really wasn't a bad painting.

  
Then he headed back the way he'd come.

  
It was close, but he made it. So what if his footsteps veered closer and closer to his corner on his way by, like he was being pulled in against his will. He still veered away again. He still made it out. He was going to be good today, to show himself he could.

  
By the time he was back out in the fake parking lot, his thumb on the Nav, his other hand was in his right pocket, flipping the little flattened cylinder shape over and over between his thumb and forefinger.

  
\----------

  
He wasn't hiding.

  
Yusuke stood just within the gallery containing the majority of the pupils' portraits, off to the side near the wall, as he listened to the sound of Ryuji's voice echo through the Palace. He was out of sight of the doorway, but also not hidden; if anyone had approached and taken a few steps into the gallery, they'd have easily spotted him. This was one of the dimmest rooms - a strange choice for viewing artwork - but he knew how visible his mask and boots were in the low light.

  
But Ryuji gave up looking for him relatively quickly. He bellowed his Metaverse name frequently enough that Yusuke could easily imagine where he was in the Palace. First the large exhibit room near the entrance, because his voice echoed readily there. Then a carpeted passageway, sounding closer but muffled. Then the room that contained Madarame's portrait of him, sounding much closer but quieter, too; perhaps he'd had enough of yelling by then. Then, if Yusuke held his breath, he could just make out the sounds of his boots tapping on the hard floor, fading away to nothing as he left. He knew from experience that Ryuji could be just as stealthy as the other Thieves during an infiltration, but it seemed that that wasn't necessary now.

  
He felt uneasy about the idea of speaking to Ryuji one on one, but he resolved to contact him himself this time, after he left the Metaverse. He still had questions left unanswered - for one thing, the fact that the Shadows refused to attack Ryuji left him absolutely mystified. Had he made some sort of deal with them, somehow? He was comfortable here, treating the Palace that caused the other Thieves so much consternation during their infiltrations as his personal space, even using it to...

  
The entire situation was so far outside his realm of experience that he had tried to let what he'd witnessed fall by the wayside, unexamined. It had been surprisingly easy to focus on other things during his classes, given that he had only managed an hour or two of sleep and given that his mind seemed to be more interested in reminding him of what his own bloodied arm had looked like, over and over again, until he was sick to his stomach. Now that he was straining to listen for signs of Ryuji in his vicinity, what he had observed him doing yesterday was back on his mind. But he had no frame of reference for the proper way to react to stumbling upon someone doing... that.

  
When the shack had been filled with over a dozen pupils, the idea of privacy was laughable. They ate, painted and slept side by side. The boys separated from the girls to bathe, but that was the only real separation. And there was only a single bathroom, always in demand.

  
And he was good at ignoring his body.

  
Even when the pupils had begun to leave, one by one, he'd already grown used to registering the faintest stirrings and carefully setting them aside in his mind before they could get out of hand. And even now that the shack was empty in the evenings, while Madarame was occupied downtown with his exhibit, he wasn't tempted. What was there to be tempted by?

  
Of course it had happened on its own now and then. It couldn't be helped. Sometimes he'd wake up to it, and while he hadn't relished having to carefully make his way to the bathroom without being detected to clean it up, it was still preferable to indulging in it purposely during his newfound solitude in the evenings.

  
He was embarrassed by the vulgarity of it, but his mind insisted on showing him an image every time he had to look at what was left behind to clean himself up. It was a view he had actually seen at some point, perhaps during one of the rare times when Madarame took him into the city to shop for clothing or art supplies. He remembered staring out the window from the elevated train at an impossibly wide sky in the winter, opaque white with snow that never fell. It bellied down to the city below, oppressive and mute. Uncaring.

  
Could there be anything more evocative of loneliness than that? A wide, flat loneliness, unending. He tried not to think of it each time, but his mind called it up all the same, and now the link was solid in his mind.

  
He especially resented that he couldn't control his own body as he slept. During the day, he could push it aside, but at night there was nothing he could do, because he wasn't given the luxury of a choice. His dreams were typically vivid, their imagery bright and sharp, and he enjoyed them for their own sake. Even the unpleasant ones often left him with some seed of an idea to explore in a sketch after he woke.

  
These other dreams were different. They were comparatively barren of visuals, which was unusual and unsettling for him. They left him feeling disoriented, both during the dream itself and after he woke. Instead of relying on visuals, they focused on the sensations of warmth and pressure, and the knowledge that someone was close. The identity of the other person was never revealed; for all he knew, it could have been a different person each time. There was pleasure, too, but even during the dreams it was mingled with guilt and shame, just as it had been on the very few occasions he'd attempted to banish the inconvenience his body imposed upon him from time to time during waking hours. He'd decided long ago that the minimal pleasure wasn't worth it.

  
Witnessing Ryuji absorbed in... that... only proved him right, in a way. The panic he'd displayed at being discovered afterward was clear, and there was also the issue of the name he'd been whispering as he touched himself. Yusuke had little confidence in his ability to gauge others' feelings, but if he had to guess, it seemed to him that Akira showed the same level of affection in his dealings with Ryuji that he did when he met with the older man who occasionally bought him dinner at night. Or when he spoke with the short boy in the Shujin uniform, each of them looking down at their phones as much as each other's faces. Or even when he spoke with Morgana. It was only a guess, but he thought Ryuji knew it, too.

  
But then there was that sigh.

  
There had to be a reason Ryuji had sounded like that. That long, rattling sigh with just a hint of his voice beneath it, gratification made audible. Relief. In his few attempts to silence his body's demands in the most direct way possible, Yusuke guessed that he had never felt the satisfaction that that sound implied.

  
His stomach flipped over, suddenly disturbed as he realized just what it was that he had been thinking about. Apparently it was fortunate after all that his thoughts at school had been filled with the sight of his bloodied arm and not this, because remembering the way he had seen Ryuji yesterday was starting to have an effect on him. That was strange in itself, since he held no attraction for him. It must have been by association alone - calling to mind what Ryuji had been engaged in caused his own body to respond in kind.

  
He was good at ignoring his body, though.

  
Just a few steps away from the wall, then a few more further in, and he was greeted with the faces of his past. Here was a girl who had stayed in the shack for two years or so, whose specialty had been animals. Madarame had of course taught them the fundamentals, and she had followed along as studiously as the rest of them. But every spare minute she had, she sketched out animals of all description. She filled newsprint pad after newsprint pad as though possessed, and when both sides of each page were used up, she simply returned to the used pages and drew over her old sketches. Graphite horses were covered with tigers in umber conte, and when she reached the end of the pad again, she picked up her brush, until dogs in stark ink marched across the page with elegant simplicity.

  
In hindsight, he could have seen her departure coming if he'd known the signs ahead of time. She'd become sullen every time Madarame directed her to start painting, and Yusuke realized now that it was because drawings didn't sell, or if they did, it wasn't for much. Paintings sold for much more. The girl hadn't cared what actually _happened_ to her pieces upon completion; she just wanted to make them. Yusuke knew this for a fact, because it had been the same for him.

  
So she'd withdrawn into herself, speaking less and less frequently, until there was a morning when she wasn't there.

  
"Your drawings were very good. I still think of that horse you drew for me in charcoal," he murmured to the painting, mindful of the Shadows one room away. He hadn't been able to keep it, of course. With so many pupils sharing one space, drawings piled up like drifts of leaves, and Madarame had no qualms about clearing them out with all the ceremony as if that was exactly what they were. Yusuke had pinned the drawing to the wall of the room they all slept in, where he could see it from the floor. It was gone a few days later.

  
Of course, at the time, none of them had thought it strange or anything worthy of distress. Drawings were not at all precious when you could make another, almost the same. The value to an artist was the act of making it, not the finished piece. Madarame praised their paintings profusely, complimenting their composition or originality or atmosphere, but drawings were judged for improvement alone. And even if Yusuke had tried to protest, he knew that personal belongings were frowned upon, without it ever having been put explicitly into words. A pupil might arrive with some kind of keepsake or something else to remember their life before the shack by, but it would disappear within days, just as drawings did. The other pupils would help them look for it, but the items never did turn up.

  
He'd begun studying the girl's portrait to distract himself from remembering the way he had discovered Ryuji the day before, but now he needed something to distract him from the gallery of former pupils. He could spend an eternity in here, remembering the way things had been, but the entire reason he had begun sneaking into the Palace was to escape the weight of the silence in the shack pressing down upon him, and the thoughts of Madarame that came with it. But here he was, mourning all of the old, petty injustices just the same.

  
He decided to say goodbye to the other pupils on his next visit. They would wait for him.

  
He continued on, further into the Palace.

  
\----------

  
On the train ride back from Madarame's, Ryuji was starting to feel a little less cheerful.

  
He was trying to keep at it, though. Encouraging himself with thoughts of how the arcade was bound to have something new to play by now, since he'd stayed away for so long. He was close to broke now, but he could go check out manga and browse for free for a good long while before they'd kick him out. Yusuke had mentioned people watching in the red light district - that wasn't exactly his favourite part of town, but he could go do the same thing in Shibuya instead. Nothing stopping him from just hanging out by himself somewhere and seeing what there was to see.

  
But thinking of Yusuke just made him think of the museum again, like they went hand in hand now, and it all went downhill from there.

  
He kept trying to be a cheerleader for himself. Going a whole day without was a pretty fucked up thing to be proud of - put _that_ on a certificate and hang it on your wall - but he _would_ be proud, if he could do it.

  
He wished he'd stuck around in the museum longer, even if his corner did always try to pull him back in. In the museum, there was at least a _chance_ of something new happening. Out here, he had a long, long afternoon all on his own with nothing to fill it. He knew if he went home before his mom finished her shift, there'd be nothing to stop him, so he kept his mind working on what he could do out and about instead of what he could do at home.

  
He kept one hand on the handhold above his head and the other in his right pocket, fiddling endlessly with the flattened cylinder shape, his present for himself.

  
The train got to Shibuya station, spitting him out with everybody else. It was a good distance from Madarame's shack to Shibuya but in all that time, he still hadn't settled on something to do. He got out of the way of the glut of commuters and leaned against the tiled wall, enjoying the way it sucked the heat right out of the back of his neck and arms, and thought it over. It wasn't exactly exciting in here, but there was no lack of people to stare at, if nothing else. He wondered how long you could pretend to wait for a train before the transit employees threw you out for loitering. Maybe he'd find out.

  
He could only stare at the people for a handful of minutes before he was scrolling through his old messages on his phone, automatically, unable to stop himself. He kept his eyes on the chat between him and Yusuke as long as he could, but it was only so long. Soon enough, he was back in his rut like he'd never left.

  
Just about four whole weeks since he'd gotten a chat notification from Akira. He'd sent the last one, asking Akira what he was up to, and Akira had read it but never answered. He scrolled through them carefully, seeing them as a whole, and realized that Akira had almost never actually started a convo with him. It was almost always Ryuji asking. You busy? Are you free? You got plans today?

  
Do you have time for me?

  
He jammed his phone back in his pocket and left it there, playing with the little thing he'd bought himself in his other pocket. He stared straight ahead at the wash of people without really seeing them until one of them got closer and closer, forcing him to focus his eyes to figure out who it was.

  
It hadn't worked on Yusuke, but apparently thinking of Akira really did summon him.

  
Akira smiled at him, a small one of recognition, nothing more, but Ryuji grinned like the fucking idiot he was. "Hey man!" His voice was still strained, a bit raspy and uneven, but Akira didn't seem to notice.

  
"Hey." Akira was still smiling as he leaned against the wall next to him, a foot or two away, and that was enough. Ryuji seized on it, turning it into proof of - something. Proof that he was still welcome, proof that Akira still - well.

  
It wasn't proof of anything. It was proof that Akira knew what he looked like, had recognized him in the crowd, and had come over to say hi.

  
He sometimes wished that he could just be one way or the other. Half of him was off in fucking la la land, using all his brain power to come up with shit to make himself feel better. Coming up with ways that little looks and hand movements and bits of sentences could mean something else. Something to keep him warm at night. The other half of him knew everything. It knew what was real and what wasn't, and it knew exactly what the other half was doing.

  
The problem was that the half of him that knew everything wasn't all that good at stopping the half that didn't.

  
He'd been staring into Akira's eyes all this time, too, without saying anything. Akira had nice eyes, behind the big doofy glasses. Grey eyes with long lashes. Akira smiled again, this time a little awkwardly, and looked away.

  
Fuck.

  
"You, uh. You headed somewhere?" Wow. Real intelligent. Ask Akira if he's headed somewhere while he's in the fucking train station.

  
"Nah. Headed home." Then Akira leaned a fraction closer, looking up at his face again, and. God. He had it so bad. His stomach tensed, then started doing lazy flips, and he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. It had never crossed his mind before, not once, but suddenly he pictured Akira kissing him, right there in the train station, not caring who saw them, because that was what Joker would do. And Joker was the real one, anyway. Joker was the type who just took what he wanted, and -

  
Akira had only leaned a little closer so he could be heard over the crowd, that was all. He kept talking. "You wanna come by? I'll make you a coffee."

  
Ryuji froze, every part of him, except for the hand in his right pocket. He flipped the flattened cylinder shape over and over and tried to figure out what to say.

  
The fucking cat saved him, of all people. Morgana's head popped up over Akira's shoulder and said something Ryuji didn't hear, because he was busy thinking about what it meant to see him.

  
In his chat with Yusuke, Yusuke had said that Akira didn't always have the cat with him when he hit up the red light district. Probably cramped your style to have a sentient passenger - a _witness_ \- with you when you were out looking for action. When you hit the bar with some cougar, or you let some old guy buy you dinner late at night.

  
If Morgana was here, that told him everything he needed to know.

  
He looked down at the floor, because he couldn't trust what his face was doing. "Oh, uh. Thanks? But I gotta go. Got. Got shit to do. But thanks."

  
He glanced up again, just a peek out of the corner of his eye. Now Akira grinned, _Joker_ grinned, and his hopes of being good today, for the whole day, went down the drain. He knew exactly what he'd be doing the second he got home. He traced the thing in his pocket with his fingertips.

  
Akira grinned like a devil, keeping his eyes on him to distract him, and reached right into his pocket before he could react. "What's so important, huh?" He flipped the present Ryuji had bought for himself between his fingers, first one way, then the other, and grinned all the wider without looking at it, still staring him down. "Geeze, Mr. Athlete, I'm appalled. Someone like you picked up smoking? Seriously?" He held up his hand, palm down, and walked the thing across his knuckles like a coin, showing off by doing it without looking.

  
Ryuji swallowed and said nothing.

  
"What's _that?"_ asked Morgana.

  
He snatched it back, before Akira could realize it wasn't a lighter, but it was too late. He saw.

  
"O-oh, shit, I, um. Sorry, Ryuji. I thought - I didn't know."

  
"No worries! No, uh, no big deal!" he cried out, chirpy and fake. He was already ten feet away, and a train was waiting for him. He slipped inside, avoiding elbows and shoulders and briefcases, and only realized it was the wrong one two stops down the line.


	6. Idolatry

It was like he'd been drugged. He made it home somehow, but he didn't remember it.

  
He had enough presence of mind to lock the deadbolt on the front door and slam his bedroom door behind him, but that was it. Ryuji's hands were already full. One hand was back in his right pocket, holding the present he'd bought himself between his thumb and forefinger. The other was down his uniform pants, cupping himself roughly through his briefs.

  
He'd been so good, too. Now he was just going back to digging himself a hole. But he could always try again tomorrow.

  
He'd gone straight to his room with his shoes still on, something he never did at home, but that was okay. Before, he'd done it with his boots on, in the Metaverse, and he was curious. Yesterday had been pretty fucking good, good enough that he hadn't even needed to pick it back up again after he'd gotten home, though that probably had more to do with how freaked out he'd been over being caught by Yusuke. Maybe he could sort of recreate that, but better. Keep it the same, but take out being interrupted and add in an improvement.

  
Felt weird to sprawl out on his bed with his sneakers on, but whatever. He lifted his hips, shoved his pants and briefs down to his knees with his thumbs, and took his present out of his pocket.

  
Shit. He had no idea how he was actually going to do this.

  
It didn't matter. His body was moving ahead of his brain. He wriggled and kicked until his pants were around his ankles, then turned ninety degrees on his bed, propping his lower back and the soles of his sneakers up against the wall.

  
There was a single second for him to picture his mom getting home from work early and finding her kid like this, with his ass up in the air and both hands busy. But he was already uncapping the lube.

  
Akira had invited him to fucking _go home_ with him, and he'd said _no,_ because - because -

  
He slicked up the index finger of his right hand and forced himself to go slower than he was used to. He'd learned his lesson yesterday. It was better if he made it last. He'd been trying to be good, but if he had to give in and do it once, that was still a lot better than four or five times like usual. Better make it count.

  
He'd told Akira no only because he knew Leblanc was still open. So he'd invited Akira over to _his_ place, because then they'd have it all to themselves. Oh, but first he'd told him to ditch the cat, and -

  
His head whipped to the side and he groaned loud enough for it to bounce back from the walls as he finally, finally touched himself, skin to skin. He'd lubed up his right index finger without thinking, so now he was stuck with his left hand for his cock, but maybe that was better in the long run, if he was going to drag this out. It already felt way too good. He hissed through his teeth as he squeezed the base, staying well away from touching the head, and slicked himself gently with his finger. Felt weird and cold at first, but it warmed up quick. If he kept his touch real light like this, it was more like a liquid tickling sensation than pressure, making the hair on his arms stand up.

  
For weeks, he'd been avoiding it. When Akira had come to mind before while he'd sat hunched over himself in his bedroom, he'd shoved him away again and again, replacing him with anything and everything that came to mind. Porn girls. Porn dudes. Ann, though he'd justified that to himself by framing it as nostalgia. Just reminiscing, nothing wrong with that. The fact that the Ann from two years ago, the one that he'd made out with and fingered into next week, hadn't even dreamt of her Panther suit yet didn't slow him down one bit.

  
And even after he'd started spending every afternoon after school in the museum, he'd still kept Akira in his place. Real Akira, the one who kept him at arms length, nice but not close, was for outside the museum, and that helped him keep his shit together. The Akira that lived in his head stayed inside the museum. Real Akira studied hard, like he had to earn those big glasses of his, and never mouthed off at teachers, and went after girls and only girls. In his polite, sure-I'll-carry-your-bags-for-you, good boy kinda way.

  
He choked out a wry laugh that didn't sound much like a laugh at all.

  
Yusuke had fucked it all up, though. He'd thought about it since yesterday, in his roundabout, not _really_ thinking about it way, and he could only come to the conclusion that Yusuke had thought he was doing him a favour. Telling Ryuji about how Akira made the rounds with older women _and_ older men all over the red light district late at night was probably supposed to make him feel better, like Akira being bi like him instead of straight meant he had more of a chance. Like he should keep his hopes up.

  
His hands stopped moving.

  
It didn't, though. It didn't mean he had more of a chance. His chances were worse, not better. It just meant Akira had _options._

  
Akira had Ann for the daylight hours. Ryuji had seen them himself, sitting hip to hip at the burger place on a day Akira had turned him down, back before he'd stopped asking every day. He couldn't be pissed at her for being into him when he was just as into him himself. It just meant she got picked instead of him. It wasn't her fault.

  
That was the problem. He had no one to be pissed at but himself. Akira had to stick with high school girls in the daytime, when he might be seen, but he had all kinds of things to do after dark. Places to be, people to see. Just how many adults _did_ he meet up with late at night? Yusuke had mentioned two or three in the red light district right off the bat, but who knew how many there really were.

  
That did piss him off a little more. He told himself it was for Ann's sake. Akira couldn't just be satisfied with her? A literal fucking model, a tall leggy blonde who sat right in front of him in class that he could call up whenever he wanted? Ryuji knew from firsthand experience that Ann was whatever the exact opposite of frigid was. He knew she was down for whatever Akira could throw at her.

Apparently that wasn't good enough, though. Akira kept up his cover of being a good boy during the day and hit the bars at night with older women. Older men.

  
He tried to be mad at him, but he couldn't keep at it for long. Real Akira was supposed to stay out here, and the Akira in his head was supposed to live in the museum, but what Yusuke had told him, on top of running into Akira in the train station, just mashed it all together. The same thing had started to happen during their infiltrations, when Real Akira went inside the museum, but now it was even worse. Real Akira was the nerd who hauled a fucking kitty cat with him everywhere he went, and worked in a flower store, and took Ann out shopping - but now he knew Real Akira also fucked around in bars after dark to get his dick wet. Hit the bars and hung out with strange _men,_ too, and he tried real hard not to picture what each side got out of _that_ kind of deal.

  
He shut his eyes tight for a minute and exhaled, hard, through his nose. Then he switched tracks.

  
The Akira that lived in his head was supposed to be stuck inside the museum, but he must've followed Ryuji home.

  
Now when he looked at where he'd left his right hand, it was real easy to picture Akira there instead. He had that smile on, the one he'd had when he'd recognized Ryuji in the train station less than an hour ago. Like he was happy to see him. It used to be that the Akira in his head would stay pretty hands off - they'd get themselves off, or they'd take turns with one of the lady Shadows, like being side by side was cool but touching was one step too far - but things were getting worse. Now it wasn't just about getting off. In the train station he'd had a quick but detailed flash of Akira kissing him, never mind the crowd and never mind Morgana, and -

  
He withdrew his right hand, added some lube to the tips of his first two fingers, and went back to it.

  
Maybe it wasn't the end of the world if Akira had an active social life. Just because _he_ had to struggle to think up ways to fill his hours, didn't mean Akira had to be the same way.

  
At least if Akira was experienced, he'd know what to do. Akira could show _him_ what to do. Akira would be his first.

  
He brushed himself with just the slightest touch, tickling himself with the tips of his first two fingers until the lube was warmed up. He slowly slid his index finger inside, inch by inch, and shivered. This was a hell of a lot better than spit.

  
Akira had come home with him after ditching the cat, and so what if he'd be gone again by nighttime, off to his next hookup? Akira was just a busy guy. He had options, but, for this afternoon at least, he'd picked Ryuji.

  
Now Akira was grinning at him from between his legs again. Like he was looking forward to showing Ryuji what he was in for. He had those strong hands and clever fingers, and right now he was using them to prepare Ryuji for what was to come.

  
He shut his eyes again and sighed, keeping his right index finger moving gently as he held his balls in the palm of his left hand. He'd usually be rough on himself by now, rough and direct, but Akira wasn't like that. Akira was nice.

  
Akira knew he wasn't used to this yet, so he kept his finger going, picking up the pace just a little, as he used his other hand to slowly stroke Ryuji's cock, like he was just getting acquainted with it and wanted to take his time. Like he had all day set aside just for him.

  
"Akira... "

  
Without really thinking about what he was doing, he started to move his finger a little differently, feeling around until he found that spot again. He started to curl his finger - _Akira_ started to curl his finger - and now Akira leaned forward and was kissing him, kissing him for real this time. He probably would've before, in the train station, if Morgana hadn't been looking. He'd probably wanted to. But now they had the apartment all to themselves. He was a good kisser, too.

  
Akira pulled away again and gave him that grin. He asked if he was ready.

  
"Yeah," Ryuji whispered. "Put - put it in, man." He added more lube, this time covering as much of his first two fingers as he could. He teased himself with just his fingertips -

  
\- and now Akira was just barely touching him with the head of his cock, warm and firm against him. He nudged forward and backed off, again and again, until he eased right in.

  
God. Akira. He felt so good.

  
He'd neglected himself, though. His cock looked not just hard but angry-hard, and he knew what that meant. If he gave in and touched himself, really touched himself, he'd come right away, and he didn't want that.

  
Akira didn't want that.

  
Now Akira grabbed his legs and maneuvered him into a more extreme pose, until he had him in one of those crazy piledriver positions he'd seen, or something close to it, and he was _really_ giving it to him now, thrusting hard into him - and, fuck, the look on his _face -_

  
_"Shit_ \- Akira - "

  
He was still pistoning his fingers into himself and fisting his bedsheets with his other hand, trying to resist touching his cock for one more minute, when his phone beeped next to him on the bed, where it had fallen out of his pocket. He had a chat notification.

  
He stopped immediately.

  
YUSUKE: Hello.  
YUSUKE: Are you available to talk right now?

  
His mouth tasted bitter, like ashes. It wasn't Akira.

  
But it was enough to bring him back up out of it. Carefully picking up his phone with his clean left hand and balancing it on his chest, then squinting at Yusuke's messages, had brought him back to himself. Thinking of Yusuke just made him think of the last convo they'd had, the one where he'd told him about all the stops Akira made in the red light district, like he had fucking rounds to do, and that put things back where they belonged again.

  
It wasn't like he felt good, exactly. He hadn't been near enough to finishing to give himself blue balls, at least, but his cock was still doing its best to change his mind. Twitch twitch, throb throb. And there was the same old twisted gut feeling he'd had practically since he'd met the transfer student, the one he'd known for less than two months.

  
Akira was nice, but not close.

  
But now, his ass still in the air, his slippery fingers still deep inside himself, he remembered how long he'd managed to hold out. Yesterday had been a wash, but today, he'd been good for the whole day so far. Even walking by his corner in the museum hadn't been enough to make him break his streak, and if he was a little proud of that - maybe more than a little proud of that - nobody had to know it but him.

  
He'd almost thrown it away, but if he didn't come, it didn't count, right?

  
He carefully tapped his response in with just his left hand.

  
RYUJI: hey man  
RYUJI: again? we just chatted a couple hours ago  
RYUJI: i mean. sure. just gimme a sec. got my hands full rn

  
\----------

  
That day was the first time Yusuke hadn't drawn his redline in the Palace in over a week, and, after he'd wavered out of the Metaverse and back into the shack, he didn't paint at his own easel, either. Hours passed, and night fell. He finally stirred from his seated position on the floor when the muscles in his neck began to seize up. He stretched his back, listening to it crackle, and grimaced. He massaged his neck with one hand and continued scrolling through text with the other.

  
Ryuji was significantly faster at this than he was. Hardly surprising, given the years of extensive practice he must have had, added to the fact that he only barely cobbled together misspelled words into sentences before sending them to Yusuke. His typing style was to fire out a barrage of short sentences in multiple messages when a single one would have done just as well. Despite himself, Yusuke found his own sentences becoming shorter and shorter as he tried to keep up. But he was improving.

  
During the rare times when Ryuji left him waiting for a response, he scrolled back up to the beginning of their conversation and reread it, time and time again.

  
YUSUKE: Hello.  
YUSUKE: Are you available to talk right now?

  
The other Thieves would have laughed if he had admitted it out loud, but he'd never initiated a chat conversation before. In fact, he wasn't entirely certain that he'd done it correctly until Ryuji had answered. The Thieves were the first people he'd ever chatted with at all, in the group chat they'd set up with him, and Ryuji was the only person he'd ever had an extensive private chat with like this.

  
RYUJI: hey man  
RYUJI: again? we just chatted a couple hours ago  
RYUJI: i mean. sure. just gimme a sec. got my hands full rn

  
He'd heaved a sigh of relief, then, earlier that evening. Not only had he managed to begin the chat conversation properly, but Ryuji had even agreed to it readily enough. Now, hours later, he continued to scroll through their previous conversation.

  
YUSUKE: Apologies. I suppose we did, at that.  
YUSUKE: I won't take up more of your time than necessary. I merely wanted to thank you for what you left below Madarame's portrait of me.

  
YUSUKE: The adhesive bandages were placed there by you, correct?  
RYUJI: aw those are just cheap  
RYUJI: don't worry about it  
RYUJI: i had to go to the drug store anyway  
YUSUKE: Regardless. Please let me know what you spent so I may reimburse you, once I've gathered the funds.  
RYUJI: seriously man  
RYUJI: those are too cheap to bother payin me back  
RYUJI: buy me a drink from the vending machine or somethin if you feel weird about it  
RYUJI: i just. you know  
RYUJI: i thought you could use em if a shadow got you again

  
Ryuji really did seem to be determined to keep up the charade, the one that maintained that the cut on Yusuke's arm in the Palace had been anything but self-inflicted. He decided that, for now at least, it was simpler to go along with it.

  
YUSUKE: Ah. Like before.  
YUSUKE: I appreciate the thought, but for a wound like that, an adhesive bandage would be somewhat inadequate.  
YUSUKE: I'm sure I can find a use for them outside the Metaverse, however. Thank you.  
RYUJI: nope  
RYUJI: bring em next time n you'll see  
RYUJI: they looked different, right?  
YUSUKE: I do recall thinking that the packaging looked unusual in the Palace. The writing on the box was not in Japanese.

  
He picked up the small, flimsy white box of adhesive bandages and studied it again. Here in the shack, they were merely a garden variety package of medical supplies made by a budget brand. He could read the writing easily - nothing out of the ordinary here.

  
YUSUKE: In fact it looked like no language I have ever seen, in the real world.  
RYUJI: ikr? more metaverse shit. we use that kind sometimes  
RYUJI: when ann n morgana's magic is used up. like  
RYUJI: they ain't GREAT. but they're better n a real bandaid for sure  
RYUJI: try em. okay?  
YUSUKE: I will do that, should the occasion arise. Thank you for thinking of me.

  
It was a strange feeling, to have to reevaluate someone this frequently in such a short span of time.

  
RYUJI: so you WERE there today, huh  
RYUJI: bet you heard me callin...

  
Lying didn't come to him naturally in the first place, and it was made even more difficult now that he knew Ryuji had ventured inside the Palace to leave him medical supplies. So he didn't.

  
YUSUKE: Yes. I did hear you.  
RYUJI: so?  
RYUJI: ignorin me again? not real social of you  
YUSUKE: If anyone gave you the impression that I am a social person, they were misinformed.  
RYUJI: lol  
RYUJI: you got me there  
RYUJI: but like  
RYUJI: why would you hide? you scared of me or somethin?

  
Ryuji stopped typing and left a long silence in their chat as Yusuke contemplated how to fill it.

  
YUSUKE: I don't know.  
YUSUKE: I mean that I don't know why I hid. I do know that I am not intimidated by you.  
YUSUKE: Despite what I have had to witness in the past...  
RYUJI: how come i get snarky yusuke n the rest of the thieves don't?  
RYUJI: actually i think you just gave me a compliment??? lmao  
YUSUKE: I fail to grasp your meaning.

  
He reread their most recent exchange over and over until he realized his blunder.

  
YUSUKE: I did not mean that your, ah, anatomy is intimidating.  
RYUJI: aw you can just say it  
RYUJI: i won't tell nobody lol  
YUSUKE: No, it's the truth. I was unable to make out any part of you but your back and your arm.  
RYUJI: it's okay. we'll keep it between us  
RYUJI: that you think my dick's impressive ;)  
YUSUKE: Ryuji. Please.  
YUSUKE: Wait. Impressive? I thought you believed that I thought it was 'intimidating.'  
RYUJI: same diff hehehe  
YUSUKE: I don't know how to make this more clear to you.

  
He was halfway through typing his well crafted response when Ryuji gave in.

  
RYUJI: just kiddin man. relax  
RYUJI: sorry, i just feel weird about it still  
RYUJI: and uh. i guess i should say sorry to you about that, too  
RYUJI: if i knew you were there i wouldn't have done that  
RYUJI: and in our chat before, i guess i just talked about akira without actually apologizin to you  
RYUJI: but i should've  
YUSUKE: It's quite alright. Kosei hires nude models of every description for the students to study.  
YUSUKE: And the male form would be nothing new to me even if that were not the case.  
RYUJI: uh, that's cool of you? but i hope you don't mean your school, like  
RYUJI: gets the dude models all fired up for you guys to draw em like THAT lol  
YUSUKE: Your vulgarity never ceases to amaze. Is your mind always in the gutter?  
RYUJI: yes  
YUSUKE: You seem to have a rather outlandish idea of what a prestigious art academy is like.  
RYUJI: yusuke  
RYUJI: i'm kidding  
RYUJI: this is a weird fuckin situation and i don't know you all that well so i'm makin jokes  
RYUJI: we still gotta see each other during infiltrations and i dunno what else to do, okay?  
RYUJI: fuck

  
Once again, he couldn't determine if this level of profanity indicated true anger or simply a passing irritation.

  
YUSUKE: Ah.  
YUSUKE: This is outside my experience as well.  
YUSUKE: But I see that I have kept you for longer than I intended. I only meant to give you my thanks for the adhesive bandages. I will make good use of them.  
YUSUKE: Good night.  
RYUJI: wait  
RYUJI: hang on a minute  
YUSUKE: Hm?  
RYUJI: you busy? tonight?

  
The question pulled him out of the chat and back into the silent shack, reminding him of the reason he'd begun stealing away to the Palace every afternoon in the first place.

  
YUSUKE: No. I have decided to forgo painting for today. And Madarame is occupied with his exhibit downtown.  
YUSUKE: If not his exhibit, then his mistress.  
RYUJI: oof  
RYUJI: sorry i asked, i guess  
RYUJI: but uh  
RYUJI: don't suppose you wanna hit the museum with me?  
YUSUKE: Which museum is that? The majority of the ones I have visited before are closed at this hour.  
YUSUKE: And I must admit that I didn't take you to be the type.  
RYUJI: the MUSEUM, man. duh  
RYUJI: the palace

  
He frowned. Madarame's Palace had always remained just that in his mind. No matter the form it took, it was the furthest thing from a true museum - if anything, it was a monument to Madarame's greed. He'd begun to explain this to Ryuji, but he was interrupted before he could send his message.

  
RYUJI: actually, yeah. you're right. it's gettin late  
RYUJI: my mom's gonna be home soon  
RYUJI: gonna be around in an hour or so? i'll chat with you if you want  
RYUJI: i promise to keep the dick jokes to a minimum lol

  
He had never felt less like painting.

  
YUSUKE: I would like that.  
RYUJI: ttyl then

  
He'd begun to type, again to try to ascertain the meaning of the acronym, but again, Ryuji left the chat before he could do so.

  
He filled the time with a sparse meal and ate alone at the large table, his eyes never leaving his phone as he scrolled back through the conversation he'd just finished with Ryuji. Later, after Ryuji had returned, he unrolled his futon and lay curled on his side, typing slowly and methodically late into the night.


	7. Patronage

Yusuke met Ryuji in the sham parking lot outside the Palace the next day after school, just as requested.

  
"Hello."

  
"Hey, man."

  
The two of them vaulted onto the roof, then made their way in through the skylight, as easily as slipping a sheet of paper beneath a closed door. Yusuke landed on the balls of his feet and absorbed the impact with his legs, remaining almost perfectly silent, but Ryuji did not, he noticed. The sound of his boots striking the polished floor echoed throughout the exhibit room, and Yusuke held his breath as no fewer than three Shadows zeroed in on their location. They had no discernible features, but if they had, all three sets of eyes would be trained upon the two of them.

  
"What are you _doing - "_ Yusuke hissed, his hand already on his katana.

  
"You don't know?" Ryuji sounded genuinely surprised. "Look. I'll show you." He sauntered up to the nearest Shadow, one that took the form of a burly security guard, and waved his hand in front of its distinct lack of a face.

  
Yusuke held his breath once more. Nothing happened.

  
Ryuji had made his point, but he persisted. Now he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted directly into the Shadow's face, his voice bouncing back from the walls in a cacophony. "Hey - you - _fuckers - "_ Even though Yusuke had been expecting it, the volume of it within the hushed halls of the Palace was still shocking.

  
He couldn't help the face he made. He might never become accustomed to Ryuji's vulgarity.

  
Ryuji saw it but grinned in response, not at all chagrined. If anything, he seemed to take Yusuke's expression as encouragement. "See? They like me. You too, I guess."

  
This was shocking, too. "You - you can't truly _believe_ that - "

  
An insolent sort of shrug. "Well, fine then." He laid his palm flat against his chest and pitched his voice an octave or two higher, doing a passable impression of Morgana. "The, the presence of a single intruder, instead of a whole buncha intruders, fucks with - excuse me, _interferes_ with - the Shadows'... aggression sensors. Or somethin'."

  
He scoffed. Passable or not, Ryuji's impression of Morgana did not make his hypothesis any more likely to hold water. "You can't have known that would be the case for the _two_ of us, though."

  
Ryuji was already several steps ahead, allowing his footsteps to be audible and even going out of his way to cross the path of another Shadow, just to drive his point home. "Enh. Worked out fine. And if it didn't, if they chased us, or whatever - " He glanced back over his shoulder at Yusuke with an expression he found difficult to read at first. "You 'n me are fast, if we gotta be."

  
If he wasn't mistaken, Ryuji had just praised him. The approving sort of look he had just given him seemed to cement it.

  
But this only served to raise the topic of the charade they shared, the one in which Ryuji pretended to believe Yusuke's wounds were inflicted by Shadows every time he visited the Palace to make his redline. It had just been made abundantly clear that the Shadows would not attack either of them, even when provoked, and now Yusuke had nothing to hide behind. The question hung in the air between them, unspoken but tangible.

  
Ryuji left it alone. He had more subtlety, or perhaps just more tact, to him than Yusuke would have believed a few weeks ago, when they had first met.

  
At first, out of nothing more than habit, he evaded the Shadows as he always would, peering around corners and anticipating their field of vision to traverse the Palace undetected. But by the time he looked over and realized that Ryuji had begun whistling between his teeth and tapping the end of his pipe against the floor like a cane as he strolled along, unconcerned, it seemed especially unnecessary. He fell into step beside him and used the time to study his surroundings, now that he had the chance.

  
The Palace really was breathtakingly garish. Eyecatching patterns met gleaming gold met iridescence, not to mention the constant movement everywhere in sight. Strange currents of air stirred fabric banners, and self-aggrandizing clips of Madarame played on endless loop on the screens placed liberally throughout, resulting in a noisome assault to the senses. There was nowhere for the eye to rest. He decided to look at the floor ahead of his feet instead.

  
He saw Ryuji attempt to catch a glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye, despite the fact that they were both wearing masks. "Hm?"

  
"You, uh. You okay? Today?" Yusuke searched his tone for signs of sarcasm, or anything else that might hint at an underlying reason for the question, but found none.

  
Perhaps Ryuji had mistaken the way he'd lowered his head to look at the floor as an indication of his mood. He straightened again as they continued further into the Palace. "Yes. Fine, thank you."

  
"Just about there." This time, from the tone of his voice, Ryuji seemed uncharacteristically anxious about something.

  
Just then, Yusuke realized that they had reached the room that adjoined the washrooms. This must be why Ryuji had asked how he was feeling. He was merely checking in with him out of politeness before they parted ways again. "Is this the place you are referring to?"

  
Ryuji glanced from the corner beside the women's washroom to Yusuke's face, then back again, silent for a moment. His mask rendered his expression completely inscrutable.

  
"Am I to continue on alone?" Yusuke clarified carefully. In their chat the night before, as well as the day before that, Ryuji had reacted strangely when the subject of what Yusuke had observed him engaged in had come up - joking to deflect, but also speaking frankly enough about the way he felt for Akira. He couldn't fathom how Ryuji would behave from one moment to the next at the best of times.

  
But he'd guessed incorrectly again. Ryuji's mouth turned down in what he took to be anger, but adjusted to hurt surprise once he heard the tone of his voice. "Fuck, man, I'm not - I'm not gonna do that _now._ Told you. I didn't know you were in here, last time."

  
Yusuke stopped trying to figure him out. It was exhausting. "Then what is our destination?"

  
They began walking again, though Ryuji kept his face averted. "Don't you go do your thing at that picture of you every time you come in here? Your art thing?"

  
Ah. The reason for Ryuji's discomfort led back to the charade he'd introduced. Strange that he would bring it up, then. But Yusuke did not share his distaste for the subject. "Is that why you asked me here? To watch me paint?"

  
A wary look, communicated as much by the change in his body language as by what little could be seen of his face. "That what you call it?" He touched his fingertips to his own upper arm, where Yusuke had made his incision each time.

  
"I suppose it's more properly designated as drawing. Redlining."

  
Ryuji twisted his mouth at the sound of the last word and turned away again, but continued towards the portrait. The hurt in his voice had seemed to make it clear that he resented Yusuke's assumption that he'd entered the Palace to stimulate himself, but it was just as obvious that he did not harbour a passion for the fine arts, either. There really was no discernible reason for him to be here.

  
For a time, they walked in silence, broken only by their footfalls and the whisperings and shufflings of the Shadows that surrounded them. They were always busy but also empty, more like ants in a colony than the humans they superficially resembled. The other Thieves had told him that, other than the specific types that lay hidden within, the shells were more or less the same as the Shadows they'd encountered in the previous Palace, the castle - though their trappings had changed to suit the scene, like actors donning new costumes between the set changes of a play.

  
Remembering what the Thieves had recounted to him about the first Palace they had infiltrated brought with it an unpleasant idea, one that he hadn't considered before. He stopped abruptly. Ryuji walked on for a few more steps, comfortable enough within the Palace to become unaware of his surroundings, but circled back when he realized Yusuke was no longer beside him. He cocked his head, as if to ask what the reason for the delay was, and waited patiently.

  
Yusuke stared at nothing, trying to fit the pieces together as he spoke. "I - I apologize, I was just - thinking - "

  
"No rush. Dunno bout you, but I'm tryna kill time, here."

  
He brought his eyes back down from the empty air to Ryuji's face to address him. "When you and the other Thieves infiltrated the first Palace - Kamoshida's - you encountered a cognitive version of Panther. Correct?"

  
"Yup."

  
"And - and when the four of you began to infiltrate _this_ Palace, before I awakened to Goemon - before I joined you - was there ever any sign of... "

  
"Of what?"

  
"Of _myself._ Of a cognitive... me." The mere thought left him agitated enough to begin pacing as he waited for the answer. He ran his fingers through his hair and willed his feet to be still.

  
Ryuji had begun shaking his head before he could finish his question. "Nah, man. None." He balanced his pipe atop his shoulders and hooked his wrists over it, leaving his hands dangling. "I mean, there's more to go. But so far so good."

  
Yusuke breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps his theory had been correct after all. He still felt restless, so he put that energy to moving forward again. "When you encountered the cognitive Panther, Mona told me that she was _killed._ Is that right?"

  
He laughed, suddenly, loudly enough to send echoes into the corners of the exhibit room they were crossing. "Yeah. Panther did it herself. With a fuckin' _sword."_ Yusuke detected an undercurrent of admiration to his tone, beneath the amusement.

  
That put a wrench into the theory he'd been developing, but perhaps it was still salvageable. He continued. "And - was it permanent? Or did the cognition return when you and the other Thieves did?" Ryuji looked confused, so he added, "Did the cognition reset in the same way that the Shadows do?"

  
"Oh. Dunno. She was gone for a while after that, but she was back with Kamoshida again later. Further in the Palace."

  
That hadn't really answered his underlying question. He glanced upward and realized they had reached his portrait.

  
Ryuji let his pipe clatter to the floor, carelessly, and stared up at the portrait himself. "Maybe this is it, then. Cognitive you."

  
Ryuji seemed to share his theory, then, unflattering though it was. Kamoshida had seen fit to embody his cognition of Ann, and had even allowed her to speak, but evidently Madarame thought so little of him that he'd left him trapped in a painting - immobile and mute, seen but not heard - with a subservient posture and a simpering little smile to greet the visitors with.

  
Yusuke felt the same disgust for it that he always did, mixed with the usual itch to fix it, like a painting hung askew, easily righted. He drew his katana, then craned his neck to plan his redline. It was almost the same each time, but he found it calming to study the painting and make each of his choices in his mind before applying the changes to the canvas.

  
His concentration was broken by the crinkling of a paper wrapper behind him. When he turned to find out what it was, Ryuji surprised him once more. He had removed the yellow gloves of his Metaverse outfit and held a tiny adhesive bandage between his thumbs and forefingers, apparently waiting with bated breath for Yusuke to make his incision.

  
Yusuke stared at him, speechless.

  
"Figured you forgot yours. Bandaids. I got a couple on me."

  
He sheathed his katana slowly to buy himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He had, of course, forgotten. "I - I apologize, I should have remembered - "

  
Ryuji shrugged. "Don't matter." He left his hands raised, the bandaid stretched between them. But something about the way he stood, or perhaps the set of his mouth, seemed to indicate that he was not as relaxed as his words implied.

  
The last time he'd completed his redline in the Palace, he'd -

 

The memory suddenly but firmly changed his mind. He swallowed. "I think - I think I will focus my efforts elsewhere today." He put his back to the painting again, but his mind insisted on the same gory train of thought that it had been treating him to every now and then ever since his scare in the Metaverse a few days ago.

  
Ryuji's expression was impossible to read behind his mask. "Yeah, sure. Let's go." He picked up his pipe with one hand and scrunched up the unused adhesive bandage into a ball with the other, then waited without speaking further.

  
Ryuji's silence made him feel off-balance, like he needed to explain himself. "I have been drawing my redline here, each visit, in order to - I suppose it was not merely to fix the mistakes in this painting. I suppose it was also in order to - to defy Madarame. To show my displeasure with him in a way I cannot in the real world." It felt like a truly foolish endeavour when spoken aloud. He looked away and felt his face grow warm beneath his mask as they began walking further into the Palace.

  
He expected some kind of protest - perhaps an expression of frustration at his indecisiveness - but Ryuji kept his tone neutral. "Those lines were just - just you fixin' it? I think you probly coulda gotten the same result with a marker, man. Or real paint."

  
"Blood carries more meaning. And it is ephemeral. The impermanence of ephemeral art means that - "

  
"I don't get that stuff."

  
"I suppose the why of it is less important. But now that I have completed it several times without apparent effect, and now that I know that this may be the only culmination of my self in this Palace - of my _importance_ to him - I am beginning to think that I have been harming no one but myself. My cognitive self, at least."

  
Ryuji kept walking, one hand on his pipe and the other jammed into his right pocket, but turned his head and trained his eyes on him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Yusuke had brought the charade out into the open now. "Uh, hope you figured out how literal that is. What you just said."

  
Yusuke blinked. The animosity in Ryuji's tone was unmistakable, even to someone like him. "Does this topic bother you?"

  
"What, you slicin' yourself open on a regular basis just to - just to give your dad the middle finger? Nah, man, seems like a reasonable course of action to _me._ Seems real - real _logical."_

  
"Are you being sarcastic?"

  
An explosive snort. Ryuji opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it again as he reconsidered his answer for several seconds. He finally settled for rolling his eyes. _"Yes."_

  
Perhaps it was something they would never see eye to eye on. Ryuji did not have an appreciation for the arts.

  
They'd reached the gallery containing the majority of the portraits of his fellow pupils. He'd already paid his respects to the girl who'd drawn him the charcoal horse, the girl who had never taken to painting no matter how hard Madarame pushed. He moved on, further in, and picked out another especially familiar face.

  
Here was the older boy whose work he'd destroyed, jealous that Madarame should praise anyone's art but his own. The same boy who had taken to teasing him and sharing scraps of food with him in equal measure.

  
A warmth at his elbow made him jump, but it was only Ryuji, studying the same portrait that he was. He gestured with his chin at the painting of the boy. "You ever wreck these ones? To - to defy Madarame?"

  
Just the idea hurt his heart. "No!" he breathed, incensed. "These are - these are my _family - "_ But he stopped himself, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. Ryuji had no comprehension of what he had just suggested.

  
If Ryuji noticed his irritation, he showed no sign. He let out a low whistle. "Big family, I guess."

  
Yusuke was silent for a moment, trying to regain control of his tone. "Most of the pupils stayed for only a few years before moving on again. Hence their number. None stayed as long as I have."

  
He wandered further in, searching for faces. Here was another boy, one who hadn't stayed long at all. He remembered Madarame looking displeased with the boy's work time and time again, and one day, the boy was gone, apparently having used up his chances to impress. Here was a girl, again much older. He remembered her work, especially an expressive cliffside at sunset, but her health had deteriorated due to some malady he hadn't understood and which no one had explained to him. He'd gotten the impression that it was expensive but not life-threatening. One too many visits to the doctor, and then, just as with the others, another empty futon in the room they all shared.

  
Yusuke spoke half to Ryuji, a few portraits away, and half to himself. "We saw each other as competition, at times, but they were kind to me. I am realizing now that they were kinder to me than Madarame ever was, in many ways."

  
Ryuji looked unusually serious. The expression sat strangely upon what could be seen of his face behind the skull shaped mask. "That's why we're doin' this, right?"

  
"I don't understand."

  
"Takin' his heart. It's - it's to make sure there's no more - " He waved his hand to indicate the entire portrait gallery. "No more of these. No more plagiarism." He lowered his voice. "No more suicides."

  
Yusuke gaped at him, mouth open like a fool.

  
"You didn't know?"

  
"No - who?" His eyes leapt from portrait to portrait, as if in search of a sign.

  
"Dunno. Nakanohara never said. Just that it was a guy. It - it was after he left, he said."

  
"Nakanohara - " he murmured, already halfway to his portrait. Nakanohara's work had shown great promise, and he had been one of the most unflaggingly eager to paint, day in and day out. They hadn't been close, but their shared experience was enough to include him in what he thought of as his family nonetheless. If nothing else, at least he knew that Nakanohara was alright.

  
His heart sank again. He knew that Nakanohara was well enough to speak to the other Thieves, but that was the only thing he knew.

  
He'd been a child, he told himself. Madarame had accepted him into his home at the age of three, and the other pupils had begun to appear only a few years after that. They came and went, sometimes several at a time, and he'd had his own concerns. And Madarame had been his focus, the one to command his attention.

  
But these felt like empty excuses. The fact of the matter was that when he searched the faces in this portrait gallery, they were familiar, some of them extremely so. But his faulty memory left many of them nameless.

  
Without names, he could never hope to find out their fate. It was shameful, but for many of the pupils, he remembered their work more clearly than he did their names, or even their faces, for a few. His stomach clenched with revulsion as he realized that he had done to them precisely what Madarame had done to him. He had reduced a person, a member of his family, to what they could make. A commodity.

  
The older boy who had shared his food with him, right out of his bowl, and the older girl who had held him at night when he was small. Their names would not come to him, either.

  
The scuff of a footstep beside him, louder than before, interrupted his thoughts. Ryuji leaned a forearm against the wall between the paintings, his right hand in his pocket as he carefully stared straight ahead at the wall, avoiding Yusuke's eyes. "Fox. You're not, uh. You're not gonna keep up with that, are you?" He searched for the term. "Redlining?"

  
Just the moment or two he'd spent gazing up at the portrait of himself had been enough to kindle his interest, the same way he'd felt each time he'd returned. It seemed that he had still not grown tired of making the same fixes in more or less the same way. There was something comforting about it. The only thing that had changed was the way his brain insisted on reminding him of how heavy his sleeve had become when it was coated with blood, enough blood that he'd been able to smell it. A thick scent like copper.

  
He tried to put it out of his mind, with limited success. "Not today. I may return to it again at a later time."

  
Ryuji blew out his breath and rested his forehead against the wall with a thud. Now the only part of him that moved was his right forearm, shifting minutely as he played with something in his pocket. When he spoke, his voice was sharp. "You don't do that shit in the real world, do you?"

  
"The redlining?"

  
"The _blood,_ man. The, the _cutting."_

  
It seemed important to him for some reason, so Yusuke answered with care. "No. I don't. I am not fond of blood."

  
"You're not gonna _start,_ are you?"

  
"I have no intention of doing so, no." He hadn't planned to tell Ryuji any details of what had happened, yet the words spilled from his lips unbidden all the same. "When I made my last redline, on the night that I hid from you, I - " It felt safer to think of it as 'falling asleep,' but he knew that was far from the truth. "I lost consciousness."

  
_"Fuck."_ Ryuji had turned toward him again. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but it looked as though he'd gone a shade paler.

  
"It was difficult to move my arm, and when I prepared to leave, a Shadow began to approach me."

  
"The hell?" he muttered. "They never go outside their loops with me. Their - their tracks, or whatever."

  
"And when I returned from the Metaverse, I was standing on the balcony, instead of on the sidewalk. It was the hour before dawn."

  
"You were in here _all night?_ And - and fucking _unconscious?"_

  
He nodded.

  
Ryuji steeled himself, straightening out of his poor posture and squaring his shoulders, though he left his right hand in his pocket. "Don't do that shit anymore. Take care of yourself," he demanded.

  
The idea of taking orders from Ryuji, especially when it came to his art, was ludicrous. He drew himself to his full height and looked down his nose at him, balling his fists at his sides. "I think I will be the one to decide the direction I take my work, thank you."

  
"I don't give a shit what you paint, just - use fucking _paint._ Marker. Anything but that." His voice lost its harsh edge, all at once. "You're our heavy hitter. We - we need you in fighting shape. Or we can't fix this." His eyes raked the row of portraits before them, then looked back at him, and Yusuke realized Ryuji was pleading with him.

  
Stubbornness had allowed him to make it this far, but that didn't mean it was the best approach for every situation. Ryuji had just made a valid point, and Yusuke had been unreasonable. "If it distresses you this much, then I will not draw blood for my work again."

  
"Promise." It was not a request.

  
"I give you my word."

  
It was as if Ryuji deflated with relief. He sank back against the wall between two portraits and exhaled sharply. He'd left his right hand in his pocket the entire time, but now he withdrew it and stood again to put his arm around Yusuke's shoulders roughly, pulling him close and releasing him just as quickly. "Then, uh. Let's keep going. Too many eyes here."

  
Ryuji's mercurial nature always left him two steps behind, and now he was left behind literally, too; he trotted to catch up to him. "I don't understand. Are you angry with me?" The idea bothered him more than he would have thought. He touched his own shoulder where Ryuji had touched him, so briefly that he almost thought it had been his imagination.

  
"Nope."

  
Apparently it was as simple as that. Ryuji ventured deeper into the Palace, and Yusuke followed.


	8. Collaboration

AKIRA: Hey.  
AKIRA: You there?  
AKIRA: You must be on the train or something.  
AKIRA: Are you busy again today? I'm free for a few hours. Until the evening, anyway.  
AKIRA: Sorry if I made things weird. With the pickpocketing thing.  
AKIRA: Guess I should keep my hands to myself. ;)  
AKIRA: Hit me up if you're around, okay?

\----------

  
It was hard to calm back down after the little standoff he'd had with Yusuke. Really, all they'd done was puff their chests out at each other, but it felt more serious, somehow. Maybe it was just because they were supposed to be teammates, all buddy buddy, or maybe it was just because he still didn't know him all that well. Not well enough to know how things would shake out with him, at least. Either way, Ryuji was still amped up and fidgety as the two of them walked further into the museum.

  
Another thing. Something about the way Yusuke had looked when he was pissed off was weirdly familiar. At first he'd thought that it reminded him of his awakening to Goemon, but that wasn't it. Not all of it, anyway. When Yusuke'd let Madarame's Shadow know what he really thought of him, he'd looked half crazy, but that was nothing new - Ann had been the same, and when he'd mentioned it in passing to Akira, he'd confirmed that Ryuji had looked like that, too. It wasn't Yusuke's face that had looked familiar, anyway. It was the way he'd been standing.

  
Suddenly the creepy blood thing he'd been doing made more sense. Yusuke was supposed to be a good artist, but all Ryuji had been able to make out had been a bunch of dark lines all over the place. Now he got the point of it. Straight shoulders instead of slouched, and clenched fists instead of hands held out in front all nice, like for school pictures or something. Face all pissed instead of meek and mild. That's what Yusuke had looked like a minute ago, in the room with the pictures of the other pupils.

  
Thinking of the picture Yusuke'd been drawing all over as his cognitive self instead of just a picture on the wall sort of made it make more sense, too. Yusuke wasn't fixing a picture. He was trying to fix himself.

  
Didn't feel so great now that he'd basically ordered him to knock it off. He'd already said that he couldn't show Madarame how he really felt, out in the real world. All he wanted was to let loose a bit in here, where everything went back to normal when you left. Ryuji didn't really get why _blood_ had to be involved, but...

  
He turned to Yusuke. Hard to tell what was up with him, with the mask in the way, but he was staring at the floor again. They _had_ just been talking about a member of his 'family' committing suicide, after all, and after that, Ryuji had chewed him out.

  
It was weird. It was close to what made him buy Yusuke the bandaids, actually. Something made him want to cheer him up a bit, if he could.

  
He didn't know how he could possibly _do_ that, but he could make conversation, at least. "You been this far in? On your own?"

  
Maybe he'd already torpedoed Yusuke's opinion of him. He kept more distance between them than he had before, and he sounded sort of off. Upset, maybe. "Yes. That ostentatious statue is nearby."

  
"Yeah, it is pretty ugly."

  
More silence. A minute more and they stood at the foot of it, squinting to see the top. Same as before - a bigass golden Madarame, standing with his arms out and hands held up to the ceiling.

  
Yusuke must've been more upset than he thought. He was practically seething. "Ugly does not begin to cover it. This statue is - this is his true self. A love letter to greed and, and _narcissism,_ covered in gold. Gold! He - he is _proud_ of this! All of this!" He waved his hand at the museum as a whole.

  
Suddenly Ryuji got an idea.

  
"Let's fuckin' smash it, then."

  
Yusuke just looked sort of confused.

  
"You - you were drawing on top of that picture of you to defy him, right? That's what you said?"

  
A curt nod.

  
"So let's - " He peered up at the statue and realized it might be easier said than done. "Uh. Your katana's sharp, right? Gold's soft." He hefted his pipe and considered it.

  
Yusuke shook his head and reached out to stop him. "You will only harm yourself. It is almost certainly only gold plated."

  
"Still. We'll just scrape it off, then."

  
It felt kinda goofy, though. Ryuji took the left foot of the statue, scraping at the toes with the end of his pipe, and Yusuke took the right, doing something fiddly with the tip of his katana. They compared notes after a minute or two.

  
"See? It comes off. You're right, it's just somethin' else underneath."

  
"Hmph. Fitting."

  
He leaned over Yusuke's shoulder to check his progress. "I don't think you get what we're doin', man."

  
He flinched away, like he didn't like being touched. He should have figured Yusuke was a personal space kind of guy. "Do you truly think yourself suited to critique my work?" Prickly about certain things, too.

  
"I mean. Usually you'd be right. But we're - we're defyin' him, or whatever. We're tryna make it _worse."_ He pointed at the delicate little sakura blossoms that Yusuke had scratched into the toes of Madarame's statue. "You're makin' it _pretty."_

  
"Why is that a problem? I am defying him as I see fit."

  
"We're supposed to be - " He searched for the word. "Vandalizing. We're - we're doin' graffiti, here, I guess. We're supposed to be makin' somethin' ugly. Like. Maybe we better bring spray paint, or somethin', next time. Sharpies."

  
It looked like he was getting through to him, maybe. "I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense. If I put forth my full effort, if I use my artist's eye - " He gestured at the pretty flowers he'd carved into the gold. " - then we arrive at something closer to a collaboration than the intended effect."

  
"Yeah, I guess."

  
But then Yusuke's face turned sour. He sheathed his katana with a sharp clack and sat hunched on the edge of the platform the statue stood on.

  
Ryuji gave him some space and sat on the floor with his back to the platform, off to the side and out of sight. "Uh. Sorry, man."

  
"For _what."_

  
"For... pushin' you, I guess. For bein' snappy at you. About the blood thing." Ugh. He was such a fuckup. This was all just supposed to be a way to kill time, to eat up the hours he had to himself so he could try to get himself back under control. He'd invited Yusuke to join him in the museum in their chat last night because he'd thought maybe he'd want an excuse to get away from the shack - so he could have a break - but now Yusuke looked like this. Not exactly relaxed. If his plan had been to give Yusuke a break, then bringing up suicide and barking at him were pretty fucking counterproductive, too.

  
Yusuke interrupted his thoughts. "Thank you, but I am not upset with you."

  
"Then?"

  
His voice was nothing but bitter. "We decided to deface this statue, but I can only make it more beautiful. I thought - I thought that I wanted to defy him, to show him my true feelings, but - " There was some kind of impact sound, as if Yusuke had struck the ground. Maybe with the sheath of his katana. "Do you know what my first thought was? As I studied the sakura blossoms I had just carved into this statue?"

  
"No. What?"

  
"I wondered if he would _like_ them. I want - I still want him to _praise_ me." The self-loathing in his voice made Ryuji's guts churn.

  
It also made him smile, though. Not a happy smile, but he did smile. "Yeah? Guess we're sort of the same, man."

  
"How." He didn't exactly sound impressed at the comparison.

  
Maybe it had been a mistake to bring it up. Like he was one upping him. But now he had to say it. "Oh, I just. I got dad shit too. He's gone - he left, I mean, he's - I'm _glad_ he's gone, because he used to - well. It's better now. But I still got that stupid part of me, that wants - it wants what you want." He laughed, even though it wasn't funny. "He's a piece of shit, and I haven't seen or heard from him in years, but I still... "

  
"You still love him."

  
"Yeah," he croaked. This was so fucking stupid. He was going over old shit like it still mattered, like it was helping Yusuke somehow to find his old wounds and dig right in. Here, you think you've got it bad? Look at _this_. Look at all the nasty shit I carry around with me. And it was _old,_ it was _over,_ but now he had this lump in his throat, like he still had to go home to his dad at the end of the day and put on the brave face for his mom's sake.

  
And now he had a new problem. Really, it was the old problem, the one that had kept coming back every now and then for years. His cock stirred, and he let the back of his head slam against the platform he was leaning against, hard. Maybe he should do it again, a couple more times. Maybe it would take his mind off things.

  
He didn't even think about this shit with his dad, anymore. He'd barely spared him a thought since he'd -

  
Fuck. Since he'd told Akira about it. Months ago, right after they'd formed the Phantom Thieves.

  
He'd gone without all day today, _and_ the day before, since Yusuke had interrupted him while he'd been at it and he'd never finished. Counting yesterday was maybe a bit of a stretch, since he'd gotten well into it before Yusuke had messaged him, but today was going to be a full day without. The whole thing with Yusuke in the room with the pupil's pictures, their little tense moment about the blood, had woken it up, though. Apparently that was the kind of thing his cock liked. That thing when he'd told Yusuke that someone he considered to be his fucking brother had committed suicide, too. He'd almost offered some kind of halfassed excuse - sorry Yusuke, go on without me, nature calls - so he could run right back to his corner and give in. So he could let this thing he was fighting win. But he'd held out. He'd held out every time.

  
But now he'd thought of Akira. Akira was back in his head. He fiddled with the bottle of lube in his right pocket and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

  
Yusuke had just said something. He seized on it. "W-what? Sorry. I didn't hear you."

  
"Oh. I merely said that I wished I didn't. Love him." His voice was very quiet.

  
Helping Yusuke would help himself just as much. More, maybe. He could be a good listener, if he tried. "I get it. It's - it's your _dad._ Even after all the shit he did. He's still your dad."

  
"He raised me. I have no one else. I wouldn't even be an artist, were it not for him."

  
"I bet you _would_ be, though. You're good. I bet you'd be an artist even if - " Even if, what? Even if your mom wasn't dead? Even if you didn't wind up with this old fuck who steals your paintings and barely puts food in your mouth? " - even if things went differently," he finished lamely.

  
"Perhaps." Then Yusuke fell silent.

  
If Yusuke didn't talk, there was nothing left to distract him. He stared off into the distance and flipped the bottle of lube over and over in his pocket.

  
It wasn't even sexy shit, this time. It was how he'd felt in the dark in his bedroom, alone, after his dad finally passed out. It was him picturing Yusuke, alone, slicing himself open with his own goddamn sword so he could fix this thing that bugged him so much but wouldn't _stay_ fixed, no matter how many times he did it. It was Akira, but not his strong hands or his ass or any of that other shit. It was Akira pulling him aside from the others, like teachers did. Pulling him aside like he was being kind, as kind as he could be, at least, as he kicked him off the team for good. Thanks, but we don't need you. I don't need you.

  
Thanks anyway.

  
His dick fucking loved it. He shoved his mask up high on his forehead with one hand and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist, then pulled the other hand out of his pocket. He had begun to rearrange his belts for better access, to get himself ready to do it right through his suit, when movement caught his eye.

  
Yusuke stood in front of him, and looked like he'd been standing there for a few seconds, probably. Ryuji always forgot how quiet he could be.

  
"Shit," he mumbled, slamming his mask back down. "You, uh. You surprised me."

  
Yusuke sat next to him, keeping a foot or so between them, and said nothing.

  
He wasn't just going to go at it with him next to him like this. Things weren't _that_ bad, at least. Not yet, anyway. He pulled his legs up to hide himself and rested the side of his face on his knees, facing away, so Yusuke couldn't even see his eyes.

  
He wondered how much Yusuke _had_ seen.

  
Talking was better than silence, no matter what, and talking about Yusuke was better than talking about himself. Maybe he could get his dick to go back to sleep if he distracted himself for long enough. He cleared his throat, still curled up with his face turned away. "So if - so if this ain't workin' for you, this - this way to defy him, what do you wanna do?" He still sounded all froggy.

  
"There is a way to deface this statue that I have not yet attempted." There was no trace of disgust in Yusuke's voice. He must not have caught on to what Ryuji had been about to do. Ryuji let his feet slide forward, relaxing out of the tight ball he'd pulled himself into.

  
"Oh yeah? What's that?" He was able to sound almost normal, if he tried hard.

  
"It's crude, but I think it will serve our purpose well. As you said, we are not here to improve the surroundings. So, I think that this method will - "

  
He could really go on and on sometimes. Ryuji straightened up and looked him in the eye. So what if his face was wet. Yusuke'd already seen him worse off than this, as far as embarrassing shit went. "Just spit it out, man."

  
The fox mask hid most of his face, but this close, he could see Yusuke's eyes clearly, and he looked deadpan as ever. Just calm. But then his eyes flicked down to Ryuji's lap, then right back up again like it was no big deal. "Are you still erect?"

  
Holy shit. "Oh god, _Fox -_ don't just - shit -" His legs shot out reflexively and he curled back up again, as if it mattered. Yusuke had already seen everything.

  
Yusuke just left it like that. Like you could just drop that question and wait for an answer. Like it was normal. Ryuji snuck a look at him. No grossed out expression. Just a serious sort of face.

  
Waiting for his answer.

  
He'd have taken this shit to his grave if he could have. But if he didn't set some things straight, it meant Yusuke would think he was hard because - because he got off on talking about suicide? Blood? Either that, or he'd think Ryuji had let him spill his guts about serious shit with his dad while Ryuji was tuning him out and thinking about something to jack off to around the corner. Either way, it was better to tell him the truth than let him think that. Just barely.

  
He screwed up his face and wrenched off his skull mask, then threw it to the floor. He looked like shit, he was sure of it, but he straightened up, stuck his legs out in front of him, and glared straight at Yusuke. No more hiding. "I got this problem."

  
"Joker?" he asked quietly.

  
Fuck. "Okay, I got _two_ problems."

  
Yusuke made a little show of making himself comfortable, still a foot or two away, and looked him in the eye. He didn't look anywhere else.

  
He took a deep breath. "This ain't... _new._ This. I keep gettin' little normal patches, where I can control it - control _myself_ \- and then I keep. I keep fallin' off the wagon, or whatever. It don't even feel _good,_ anymore. I - I hate it. So don't - I just don't want you to think I wasn't payin' attention to you, to, to what you were sayin' about Madarame, because of this." He gestured at his own lap before he could think better of it. "I was listening. I wasn't - I don't _want_ to be like this, okay?"

  
He blinked, behind his mask. "This isn't normal? For you?"

  
_"No,_ man, why would it be normal for me to - to be all ready to go when we were talkin' about sad shit?"

  
"Well, I... " He trailed off and took a moment to take off his own mask, as if he'd only just noticed that Ryuji had removed his. "I suppose I don't have much to compare it to."

  
He kept getting reminded, in new and interesting ways, that he really didn't know Yusuke very well. He started a sentence without having any idea of how to finish it. "Do you mean... ?"

  
"I don't engage in that."

  
_"Ever?"_

  
How Yusuke could just look at him like that, straightfaced as always, was a mystery. "Almost never. There are times when, ah. When the results are unavoidable." He stammered the tiniest bit, but his face was the same. Didn't even stop looking him in the eye. He'd actually looked more embarrassed to explain the blood thing he'd been doing than he was to talk about shit like this.

  
"I mean. You _can,_ though, right?" Why had he even asked that? This whole thing was fucking weird.

  
"Yes." A little defensiveness had crept into his voice - finally, a hint of something normal in this whole mess - and it was enough to make Ryuji grin. "But I don't enjoy it."

  
It was still easier to talk about Yusuke than himself. "What, does it _hurt?_ Maybe you just gotta go to the doctor."

  
"It's not - it's not anything like _that."_ A bit of the pissed off Yusuke he'd seen before was returning. That was okay. Mad was better than sad, in his experience. "It's just one more thing outside my control. I dislike the reminder that I do not have a choice in - in almost anything I do."

  
Now he felt bad for making light of it. "Oh. Uh. Sorry."

  
Yusuke was quick to bring the topic back around to Ryuji. "So that is why I lack the frame of reference for - for what is normal. I thought you were erect because something had made you think of Joker."

  
That wasn't entirely off the mark. He was still hard, and probably still visible through his Metaverse suit, though it was quickly becoming something ordinary, something to make small talk about. Although, if Yusuke kept using that word - 'erect', ugh - he wouldn't have to worry about it for much longer. "No, this is - like - this ain't _my_ 'normal', anyway. I don't really enjoy it either. Or like, I do but I don't, at the same time. It's like I have to."

  
An awkward silence, just long enough for him to wonder how the hell they'd gotten down to discussing their jerk off habits.

  
"I suppose we should devise a different strategy, then. To deface this loathsome statue."

  
"You never even told me what - oh." Shit. Yusuke was even weirder than he'd thought. "You wanted me to - on - on your _dad?"_

  
Now Yusuke had this sneer on his face, like Ryuji was the biggest fucking idiot he'd ever laid eyes on. He liked it, he realized. It was sort of fun to rile him up, and he decided he'd try to do it on purpose another time, when they weren't talking about something like this. "This statue is not _Madarame,"_ Yusuke snapped.

  
"You - you said that picture of you was - _you._ Your cognitive self, anyway. You said you drew on top of it to fix it. To make your cognitive self look the way you feel. Right? So if that's _you,_ in your opinion, then why ain't this - "

  
He rattled out his answer, keeping his words clipped short. "You are being deliberately obtuse. You know as well as I do that Madarame has a Shadow, and I do not. If anything, his Shadow is closer to his self than this inanimate statue." Now Yusuke's eyes were lit up, like he'd really put Ryuji in his place. "And - and that isn't the whole of it. The redlining was - it was also my hope that it would fix _me._ My real self - " He put his hand on his chest. " - as well as my cognitive. If I can alter my cognitive self's demeanour, then who is to say that my real self's will not change as well, outside the Metaverse?"

  
That was an odd statement to put out there with that kind of confidence. "You just wanted to - to look different?"

  
"Not my _appearance._ My _attitude._ My _behaviour._ In Madarame's portrait of me, I am - I look - " He made a frustrated noise as he tripped over his words. "I never want to see that smile again. I never want to _wear_ that smile again." Ryuji had never seen him so fired up about anything. Not even art. "Each time we infiltrate, we desecrate this temple of excess a little more. Each time, I show him I am not the fool he took me to be. But each time I return to my portrait, it reveals how he sees me. It's always the same." He bared his teeth. "Cowed. Weak. _Adoring._ I - I don't want to feel that. I want to hate him."

  
"But. You said you love him, too."

  
"Yes," Yusuke admitted.

  
"And, like. Sorry, man, but it don't work that way. The picture's how he sees you, but it don't go both ways. Changing the picture can't change how he thinks of you. If it worked like that, Panther'd be dead. Or Kamoshida would've _thought_ she was dead, maybe. She ran her cognitive self through with a sword, remember?"

  
Ryuji was close enough to see the light go out in Yusuke's eyes. He was sorry to see it go. "I see." A minute ago, Yusuke's face had been livelier than he'd ever seen it, other than his awakening, but now it settled back into his deadpan non-expression. Maybe it was just the face he used to hide how he was feeling, when he had to be around Madarame. "I suppose I knew that. I suppose I was just - " A quick glimpse of a real expression, something like a grimace, before he put it away again. " - pretending."

  
"Artists got good imaginations."

  
"Yes. We do." Yusuke slumped down and looked away. "It seems that deceiving myself is a difficult habit to break."

  
He didn't like to see him like this. It hurt. A lot of shit today had hurt, actually, but maybe he could do something about this. "S-so what, though? So what if the redline thing don't work that way. If you want to think of our infiltrations as - as - "

  
"Desecration."

  
" - desecration, then fuckin' _do that._ And - and if it's just you n' me, in here? There's a lot we can do to tear this place down without blood, man. A _lot._ Changin' your cognitive self to change your real self don't work, but we can just do it the long way around." He grinned. It sort of did make sense, actually. "Like - would you _ever_ fuckin' destroy a painting of his? Rip it to shreds? Cuz there's those giant portal ones we found on the last infiltration, further in. Remember? Think of _that._ Picture that fucker's face if he saw you pokin' holes in one of his paintings."

  
"The cost of the canvas alone for a painting of that size would be astronomical - "

  
"Yeah! So just - you can just defy him in here, if you can't out there. I'll help." He beamed at him. The thought of helping him out felt good.

  
Yusuke smiled. Not the sneer, and not the smile from his portrait, the one that had been for Madarame. It was a real smile. "I'd welcome it."

  
\----------

  
The statue felt a lot taller when you were up on top of it.

  
"Man, this is - this is fuckin' crazy, okay? It ain't gonna work - "

  
"I don't see why not."

  
It wasn't like it was hard to get up there. Jumping was stupid easy in the Metaverse. Ryuji stood on top of the left hand of the statue of Madarame, and Yusuke stood behind him, just a few inches away.

  
It was more like it was a problem of logistics.

  
Made sense though, if Yusuke really didn't 'indulge in that', or whatever he'd said. He wouldn't know. "Okay, so. Does it _have_  to be the face?"

  
"If I am to desecrate this statue to the fullest, I think that would be best. It would show the most disrespect, don't you think?"

  
This was so fucking weird. "Uh, probly. But - "

  
He couldn't see him, but Yusuke was starting to sound pissed off again. "I suppose that if this is something you are not comfortable with, then it can't be helped. I had hoped to - "

  
"That ain't it."

  
It sort of _was,_ though, or at least part of it was. When he'd told Yusuke that he wanted to help him wreck up the place, he'd expected some smashing to be involved. Ripping up paintings, or breaking more plexiglass. Not... this.

  
He'd said no, at first, but his cock had talked him back into it. Yusuke'd given him time to think about it, which was a mistake. And he'd _tried_ to tell himself no. He'd tried real hard. But he'd already told Yusuke he'd help, and then Yusuke had suggested _this,_ and then his idiot brain had tried to justify it by telling himself that this was how he could help the two of them at the same time. Two birds with one stone. And now here he was, twenty feet up in the air and struggling to explain the limitations of the human fucking body to Yusuke.

  
"If you are not opposed to the idea, then what is the issue?"

  
"The _issue_ is that the face is like five feet away, man."

  
"And?"

  
Goddamn. Yusuke could be real frustrating sometimes. At least he didn't have to look him in the eye and say it. He growled. "It won't _reach!"_

  
" ...Oh."

  
"And - and even if it could, I - my legs give out. Every time. I'll crack my fuckin' head open."

  
"Not if I am prepared to catch you." But Yusuke didn't exactly sound confident.

  
"Yeah? I got two whole bandaids with me. You think that'll be enough to tape my skull back together? If you miss?"

  
Yusuke was silent behind him, like he was still thinking about it. Then he shared his bright idea. "We will simply have to get closer, then."

  
We?

  
"Seat yourself there - " Yusuke pointed over his shoulder at the upper arm of the statue, where it was close to horizontal. " - and secure yourself with your legs. I will remain behind you, similar to the way we are standing now, and keep you upright."

  
What happened to Mr. Personal Space? "You seriously wanna grab onto me like that? While I... ?"

  
"I don't forsee a problem. I have already observed you in that state, and I will be behind you."

  
This was getting weirder and weirder. "Uh. Thought you told me you didn't see anythin'. That time."

  
"I didn't. And I will be unable to in this position, as well - " Yusuke had either a real dry sense of humour or none at all. It was hard to tell. " - if you are feeling shy, today."

  
That _had_ to be a dig at him, though. "You seriously think this is about feelin' _shy?_ We are _way_ past shy territory - "

  
"Then what is the issue?"

  
He was fully hard again. And at least this time it wasn't because of sad shit. It was just simple anticipation, this time. This was practically normal, in comparison, and if that wasn't pathetic, he didn't know what was.

  
He sighed. "I guess... I guess I'll try, man."

  
Ryuji put his legs together and shimmied out of his crisscrossed belts like a real dorky hula dancer, then kicked them to the floor. It looked a long way down. He'd left his pipe down at the foot of the statue, but Yusuke had kept his katana with him. Maybe he knew what was coming next. "Can I borrow that? Your sword?" He stuck out his hand without looking behind him.

  
"I don't think that's wise."

  
He probably just didn't know how his Metaverse suit worked. Or didn't work. It wasn't as though it made sense. He tried to keep his temper. "Fox, I don't got a zipper like yours. I gotta poke a hole. That's - " Ugh. It'd be better if he didn't have to keep bringing it up, but. " - that's why I had everything hangin' out, when you caught me. Before. This fuckin' thing's got me sealed up tight."

  
"Oh, I understand. I have studied the design of your suit and compared it to the other Thieves' at length. I had wondered if there was a hidden zipper I could not locate, but - "

  
He stuck his hand out again and waggled his fingers impatiently. "Then gimme."

  
Now it sounded like Yusuke was the one trying hard to keep his temper. "Skull. My katana is nothing like a simple tool. It is a part of my self, just as Goemon is. It is sharper than any sword that exists in our world." There was a tick of silence, broken by a tiny sound, and he realized Yusuke had swallowed behind him. He sounded even more serious, now. "It is a part of me, but it has its own desires. It _wants_ to cut, and it pulls toward flesh, because that is what it was made to do."

  
"You're, uh. You're real good at puttin' my fears to rest." He was going softer by the minute.

  
"I am merely trying to make you understand why the katana should remain in my hands - "

  
Fuck. So much for keeping Yusuke from seeing him like this. Being half soft was more embarrassing than full soft or full hard, too. He spun around, squeezed his eyes shut and stuck his arms out, well away from his body. "Just - just do it then. Quick. Quickquickquick."

  
He stood there, his stomach muscles tensed and quivering, waiting for the feeling of the blade piercing his skin, but it never came.

  
"It is done."

  
He hadn't even felt the katana snag the material of his suit. Now there was a neat little slit, about an inch long, perfectly centred between his bellybutton and the not very impressive bulge of his junk. Apparently the distinct possibility of getting stuck like a pig was enough to make you lose your hardon. He spun back around, putting his back to Yusuke again.

  
"Thanks." He stripped his yellow gloves off and flung them to the floor to join his belts. He wiggled his fingers inside the slit, first one, then two, then four, and pulled it wide open until the muscles in his forearms started to feel it. Then he hopped from the hand of the statue down to the arm and inched up to the shoulder like some kind of exhibitionist tightrope walker.

  
Yusuke was probably right. When you sat down, the arm of the statue was bigger around than it looked, and the shoulder was even broader. Under normal circumstances, he could sit up here just fine and not be in any danger of falling off, as long as he paid attention.

  
Not like these were normal circumstances, though.

  
And now - Shit. He laughed to himself. If it wasn't one thing, it was another.

  
"What is it?" Yusuke was the newest, but he was better at sneaking than most of the Thieves. While Ryuji had been sitting there, gripping the shoulder of the statue with his knees and wondering just how exactly he was going to go about this, Yusuke had caught up to him, quiet as anything. His voice made it sound like he was sitting about a foot or two behind him. Too far away to see anything, at least.

  
He grabbed at himself. Nothing. He laughed again, louder. His problem had gone into hiding, all of a sudden. "Think I got, like - performance anxiety." What was the phrase? 'I swear, this never happens?'

  
"I don't understand."

  
He'd never actually tried to do it like this, he realized. He'd always gotten hard first, for one reason or another, and then he'd make himself wait a bit, usually because he'd be hoping it'd go away, and _then_ he'd finally give in and go skin to skin. Trying to get himself going from nothing at all, with Yusuke staring holes into the back of his head, was apparently not going to work. "We might be outta luck, man."

  
"You are not... ?" Yusuke asked delicately.

  
"The whole time we were talkin' about heavy shit, I kept tryin' to get it to go to sleep, and _now_ it listens. The - the one time I want it, the one time it might've been _useful,_ and now it's - " He held his hand up above his shoulder, so Yusuke could see from behind him, and extended his index finger, then curled it back into his fist. He laughed again, but stopped, because it was starting to sound weird. He stared down at his cock, as if looking at it would help it perk up, but it was being stubborn.

  
As he was looking down, he caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye. Yusuke's hand, still wearing his blue glove, came between Ryuji's side and his arm, very slowly and very carefully. Yusuke's arm came too, then pressed to Ryuji's chest, along with the palm of his hand. It was similar to how he'd pulled Yusuke close to him for a second or two in the room with all the pictures of the pupils, he realized, though the circumstances were pretty different.

  
"Uh. What are you - " The arm stayed where it was, though he could tell that Yusuke's face and the rest of him were kept out of contact. All he could feel was his arm and a bit of his chest pressed to his back. He didn't get the impression that Yusuke was trying to get a look at him over his shoulder, either, not that there was anything interesting to see right now anyway.

  
"I am - I am keeping you upright. So you do not fall." Yusuke kept his arm there for a few seconds more, then took it back. He stood behind Ryuji and dropped neatly to the floor below without another word.

  
It felt awkward, at first, to go all the way back to the entrance of the museum with Yusuke while his junk was back out in the air, as if that was just how he preferred to be, these days. Like it was fashionable, or something. But Yusuke didn't look, and in a place like the museum, it wasn't too hard to find something else to talk about.

  
When he got home, he ate dinner with his mom, like usual, and after, he started up another chat convo with Yusuke. He thought that maybe Yusuke'd be sick of him, by now, after spending all afternoon with him, and especially after they'd spent most of it talking about sad shit, but apparently it just meant that now they could switch to dumb stuff that didn't matter. And he'd said more words out loud today than he had in months, so he was a little worried he'd used them all up, but it was easy to just type at Yusuke and see what he decided to pick up and respond to. In person, he still found him kind of hard to figure out, especially when he put up the walls and gave you the blank non-expression he usually did, but in their chat, the pressure was off.

  
He took bad photos of panels of the manga he was reading, trying to pick ones with fight scenes or ones without too much dialogue so Yusuke could see the art, and Yusuke complimented the way the background elements led the eye to the focal point, whatever that meant. Yusuke went on and on about how he couldn't come up with ideas for his paintings, the ones he made out in the real world, and Ryuji tried to keep up until he gave in and started just typing random shit as he thought of it, naming pieces of furniture and other things he had in his room. Yusuke took it seriously, though, and even thanked him, saying that going back to his fundamentals and drawing studies from life might help with his slump.

  
It should have been boring. Honestly, it kind of _was_ , but maybe it was a good kind of boring. He thought about it some more while he waited on Yusuke's slowass typing and realized what it was.

  
Maybe he wasn't doing so hot right now, overall, but Kamoshida was done with, at least. He and Ann and Akira had put that fucker away. They'd helped themselves, because they had no other choice, and now it was time to help someone else. Ryuji did the best he could during their infiltrations, though the last one hadn't gone so well, maybe. But still. Yusuke, talking his ear off about shit he didn't understand, sounded a lot better now than he had in the museum. Ryuji's performance had been pretty fucking pathetic in their last couple battles, actually, before Akira had benched him, but if Yusuke sounded better now, after they'd spent all afternoon together and all evening chatting, maybe he could take a little bit of the credit.

  
He'd helped. It felt nice.

  
He started nodding off over his phone and had to call it a night. The Metaverse still took it out of you, even if you didn't wind up fighting. He signed off with Yusuke and got ready to go to sleep, then realized that he was smiling like a dope, all alone in the dark. He'd helped Yusuke, and even though it had been kind of a shitty day overall - stressful, definitely - he'd been good, too. It had been close, but he'd gone without for the whole day.


	9. Art Brut

After Ryuji had wished him goodnight, again leaving their chat abruptly with only a cryptic acronym by way of explanation, Yusuke sketched the room around him.

  
It had been Ryuji's idea, of all people. Judging by his suggestions, his bedroom was generously furnished compared to the room Yusuke slept in. But the light fell across the folds of his school bag, just so, and his sketchbook called to him. He made contour drawings with his felt-tipped pen, and practiced values with his graphite and tortillon, and filled page after page with sketches of his school bag, the perspective of the window and door frame, and his own hands and feet in front of him until his eyelids grew heavy and he was forced to stop.

  
In hindsight, his redlines had taken up too much of his time. He'd neglected his fundamentals for their sake, but it wouldn't do to let his skills get rusty.

  
The shack was empty once more, and he suddenly realized that he hadn't seen or spoken to Madarame in several days. Madarame rose early and left long before him each morning, so it was possible that they'd missed each other, but Yusuke suspected that he had simply begun to live out of his mistress's home instead, commuting from there to the ongoing exhibit downtown instead of making an appearance at the shack. After all, with his attention taken up by the exhibit, he had less time to oversee the production of new works to confiscate. What other reason did Madarame have to be here? By now, Yusuke was long accustomed to looking after his own meals, so the absence was not so much a hardship as merely something to note. Something of only minor interest.

  
He laid down on his futon, flat on his back, and frowned in the dark. He was deceiving himself again.

  
It was not something he'd ever admit to Ryuji, but in his heart of hearts, Yusuke envied him.

  
No one could accuse Ryuji of having an expressionless face. Yusuke still had difficulty interpreting his moods _correctly,_ sometimes, but even he could tell when Ryuji's mood had changed, at least. His face and his body language conveyed _something._ It seemed to help him conduct himself socially, too, in a way that he doubted Ryuji realized.

  
He had witnessed it himself. If Ryuji's and Ann's back and forth sniping grew too heated, it was generally Ryuji who backed down - eventually, at least. Yusuke had observed him carefully during their last Thieves meeting in the Shibuya walkway: his expression remained openly angry, though his and Ann's dispute had only been over personal space, or a borrowed pen, or something equally trivial. But even as his brows were drawn low and his tone remained harsh, he'd rubbed the back of his head, as if to admit fault, and he'd leaned his torso away from Ann, as if to convey respect. A few minutes later, long after Akira had diplomatically changed the subject, Yusuke noticed Ryuji bumping Ann's thigh with his as they leaned against the railing of the walkway in a way that couldn't be accidental, though neither looked at the other. The muscles in Ann's back had relaxed considerably, and by the time they were all in the Metaverse, the two were laughing again.

  
By contrast, his classmates at Kosei accused him of 'stoicism' if they were trying to be polite, or they would say that there was 'nobody home' if they weren't. He knew that the way he carried himself contributed to the chasm between him and his classmates that left him unapproachable, but there was nothing for it. He couldn't force his face to cooperate.

  
Surely it had something to do with his talent for self deception. If his true feelings for Madarame were buried beneath so many layers of polite apathy that even he couldn't immediately access them unless he had his fingers poised over the canvas, prepared to make his mark -

  
His heart had begun to beat faster, though he lay perfectly still, staring at the ceiling. He remembered the scent that still seemed to cling to his nostrils, even now. Blood.

  
Ryuji had been right about that, too. Making his redline in the Metaverse and imagining Madarame would be taken aback by the results in the real world, as if Yusuke had discovered a hidden shortcut, had been childish. The peace of mind the fantasy granted him wasn't worth the risk to his life. And today, in the Palace, he had felt the same rush of adrenaline when he'd told Ryuji about the way he truly felt for Madarame as he had when he'd made his redline the first time - the sensation was stronger, in fact, and there'd been no need to draw blood. Speaking it aloud made it feel more true than drawing it ever had.

  
Altering a cognitive painting did not change his self in the real world. He needed to put forth the effort and do it himself. In order to be true to himself, he needed to see himself more clearly, and to do that -

  
His thoughts grew more and more scattered. He let wakefulness slip through his fingers and fell asleep.

  
\----------

  
Yusuke descended the staircase into a golden haze, immediately recognizing that he was dreaming.

  
When he'd hidden from Ryuji inside the Palace, before they'd formally explored it together the next day but after his bloodloss scare, Yusuke had continued farther in and discovered the Sayuri gallery. It was where he found himself now.

  
His feelings for that gallery were just as mixed as the way he felt for Madarame. The Sayuri had motivated him forward from his earliest memory onward. But its existence was a lie. He and Ann had brought the counterfeits to light together, forcing some of the truth from Madarame himself and the rest from his Shadow, later that day, during Yusuke's very first trip inside the Metaverse.

  
But his love for the painting remained. He'd wandered through the gallery, giving each copy his full attention, and the flaws staring back at him did not make him love the Sayuri any less. Just as with Madarame, the lie told to his face could not touch a lifetime of adoration even as he saw right through it.

  
He'd been grateful that he had discovered the gallery on his own, that day, without the other Thieves. Alone, it had wrenched at his heart to see row upon row of Sayuris. His love for the painting and Madarame rioted against his hatred for him, and against the knowledge that what he felt so deeply for did not exist - had _never_ existed. The falsehood he'd seen as his father and the painting both. Now that he knew this gallery was here, he could compose himself carefully when the Thieves needed to pass through it, and keep his shame for how he felt to himself.

  
In his dream, he felt the same, though for a different reason. There were more Sayuris than ever, more than he could study in a lifetime, and they bled together until he could no longer see any flaws at all. They were all the Sayuri, or none of them were the Sayuri, and now he felt ashamed all over again just to lay his eyes upon them. What had he made? What had he ever made or could ever _hope_ to make that could stand with the Sayuri?

  
He did not deserve to pass judgement upon even these counterfeits.

  
His dream showed him his latest works. Dark lines drawn with vulgar blood, scrawled on top of a superior work and wiped clean at the end of every day like a blackboard. Angular shapes barely recognizable as flower petals, etched into something of actual value. Amateurish pencil sketches of a window without a view, the artist either too lazy or too unskilled to fill in the details.

  
He turned to leave the gallery before he could be thrown out.

  
But when he lifted his head, his eyes fell upon a dark shape leaning against the lee of the wall ahead, just inside the mouth of a corridor where it was protected from the breeze that stirred the pervasive golden haze. His dream left the shape indistinct, but it could only have been human, because when he drew close, hands slipped around his wrists, and trailed over his shoulders, and grazed the back of his neck, each touch light and fleeting without force. The shape's hands held him and then released him just as quickly. And as each touch left him, the hands took away his shame, leaving only warmth.

  
The shape straightened up, pulling its shoulders back, and though it had no features, there was something expectant about the way it stood. It stood close but not touching, almost seeming to cock its head as it waited for his choice.

  
In his waking life, he could deliberate over any given dilemma for hours. Here, he did not think for a second.

  
He matched the shape, straightening his back himself and standing tall. The shape remained motionless, neither drawing him closer nor pushing him away. It made no effort to convince him one way or the other, because the choice was his.

  
He took the single step needed to close the distance between them, and though there was nothing to tell by, he felt that it was glad.

  
The small part of his mind that remained separate and awake in his dreams experienced the sensations that emanated from the dark shape for only a moment before it recoiled in revulsion, knowing what was coming.

  
Pressure. More warmth than before, but not focused on his wrists, or his shoulders, or his neck. The shape pressed its front to his, and though it had no features, and though the ways the shape touched him and the ways he touched the shape were left ambiguous, he could just make out a long, rattling sigh -

  
He jolted awake and pulled himself upright into a sitting position, breathing hard. He tentatively felt around with one hand, then sank back down in relief. He hadn't. There was nothing to clean up, and nothing to feel shame for.

  
It was an unusual dream, though.

  
He expected it to melt away as the minutes went by, as dreams did, but its imagery was persistent. Even more than the imagery, the sensations captivated him. He was familiar with shame - shame for how he behaved around others, and shame for his awkward, gangly limbs, graceful only in a world where four others would ever see it; shame for misplaced pride, and shame for his poor, stupid heart, hopeful and disappointed in equal parts, always.

  
The dark shape had taken his shame against his will, but that was the only thing taken. When he'd had dreams of this nature before, minus the visuals, he'd been left helpless, self-aware enough to dread the inevitable result but unable to do anything to prevent it. This time, he was able to control the dream. He'd been granted a choice, and in the dream, he'd stepped toward the touch, not away.

  
The shack was silent, and a glance at the window showed him the sky beyond the orange arc sodium street lamps. Fully dark. The birds that woke before dawn were silent, too, and there was no wash of distant traffic yet, either.

  
He felt like a different person, somehow. Someone else slipped their shaking hand inside his clothing and pulled him free. Someone else held him in their hand, motionless, as if waiting for a signal.

  
He was still able to remember what he'd been thinking about before he'd fallen asleep. He wanted to change, in a way more lasting than the scrawls he'd been leaving upon the portrait of himself in the Palace.

  
The shame was still there, but he banished it. He made his choice.

  
It was awkward. His own hand, usually so skilled, felt clumsy and unfamiliar, his touch too light or too much with no in between. He moved his fingers back and forth, numbly, expecting _something,_ but his body responded only minimally. He realized that he wasn't even fully erect. The sensation of pleasure had seemed so clear, inside the dream, but awake, he had only the memory of it.

  
Choice was one thing, but - He suddenly remembered Ryuji's snide inference that he lacked not just the inclination but the _ability,_ and now that the idea was lodged in his mind, it was difficult to shake it free. Thinking of Ryuji brought other thoughts with it, and just as suddenly, the identity of the dark shape in his dream became clear. His face grew warm.

  
A few days before, he had stumbled across Ryuji, engaged in something like what he was now attempting. Ryuji had mumured to himself, caught up in an elaborate daydream starring Akira, and though Yusuke hadn't been able to see anything, he'd heard him. Ryuji had laughed to himself, and sighed, and uttered his usual vulgarities, his voice rough -

  
He sighed himself, alone in the dark. He let his eyes close and explored himself gently. Now he was erect. 'All ready to go', as Ryuji had called it. He studied his different textures with his fingertips, as if encountering himself for the first time, as images came to mind.

  
Usually he'd send such thoughts away again. But if he wanted to change, he'd need to behave differently than he always had. It felt unbelievably taboo to allow himself to entertain such thoughts, even within the privacy of an empty room in an empty building in the dead of night, as if they might be broadcast to everyone he knew if he wasn't careful.

  
The first time, he'd only heard Ryuji, but today, he'd seen him. The ammo belts of his Metaverse outfit, usually slung low across his hips, had been moved out of the way, and the shape of him was clearly delineated through the material of his suit. If Ryuji's cognition had seen fit to manifest an outfit like Akira's, there still wouldn't have been much to see, because Akira's pants were somewhat loose and made of fabric. Far more utilitarian than the synthetic suit Ryuji wore. Instead of fabric, his suit was made from some thin and stretchy material that clung to him - some parts more than others.

  
Thinking of the idiosyncrasies of Ryuji's suit brought to mind the opening he'd needed to make in it that afternoon.

  
It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world at the time. Ryuji's suit lacked a true zipper, aside from the apparently decorative one that terminated a few inches from his collar. If they were to complete their desecration of the golden statue of Madarame, there was no other solution than to create an opening.

  
It hadn't been until Ryuji had turned to face him again, up on the hand of the statue, that he'd realized how badly things could go.

  
Ryuji's entire face had been creased with fear, his forehead laddered with worry lines and his teeth clenched. But he'd closed his eyes and offered his belly to Yusuke's sword nonetheless. He'd put his trust in him.

  
When Yusuke had drawn blood to make his redlines each afternoon, he'd needed to cut open the sleeve of his Metaverse suit first. Each time, the material had recoiled apart at the lightest kiss of the blade, as if eager to help him with his art. More than once, he'd overshot, forgetting the nature of his suit and instead using the amount of force he'd have needed to cut material like it out in the real world, and had cut himself prematurely. It had been his aim all along, of course, so it simply meant that he'd needed to make a second, deeper incision next to the first.

  
The idea of harming Ryuji in a similar way had turned his stomach, and he'd nearly changed his mind about the whole endeavour. But Ryuji had urged him on, had begged him to get it over with quickly, in fact, so he'd complied. When he'd pulled the material taut and stretched it away from Ryuji's body, it felt similar to the material his own suit was made of, but when he applied his katana, it behaved differently.

  
Just like his suit, his katana anticipated him, but unlike his suit, his katana had desires of its own. It pulled toward flesh, any flesh - it didn't seem to matter to it whether it was a Shadow's or his own. He knew it aided him in battle and it surely staved off fatigue, but for a purpose like this -

  
He'd gotten a grip on himself and cut without further deliberation, applying the usual amount of force required for his own suit, and was unsuccessful.

  
He'd have contemplated it at length had Ryuji's face not plainly shown how anxious he was feeling. He cut again with more force the second time, and managed to make a tiny opening.

  
Ryuji had already turned his back to him and moved away, obviously embarrassed to show himself to Yusuke in that manner. Had he not, Yusuke might have wondered aloud at what he'd just observed.

  
His katana pulled toward flesh, but if anything, it had been slightly repelled by Ryuji's. It did cut the material of Ryuji's Metaverse suit, but with none of the eagerness it had shown when it came time to cut the material of his own. It was as though his katana had had its own reservations, just as he had.

  
He laid in the dark, staring up at the ceiling once more, and realized he'd long since stilled his hand. Now he simply held himself as he thought, and as he pictured how he would appear to someone if they were to walk through the doorway and turn on the lights, the shame returned.

  
But this time it was met with a little flare of indignation. Why _should_ he be ashamed?

  
He was expected at Kosei during the day, and he did his best work there - barring the last few days, at least. He had an obligation to the Phantom Thieves, too, and he aided them just as they aided him in the Metaverse, whenever they called upon him. And even after he'd learned the truth behind Madarame, he'd still picked his brush back up and continued his work in the evenings, knowing there was a good chance that it would wind up in a collector's hands under Madarame's name. Knowing the truth behind Madarame didn't mean that Yusuke was no longer an artist.

  
His work had suffered over the last few days as he'd focused on his redlines, but maybe it was only natural. His redlines had become his only source of satisfaction, he realized. They were the only thing he did that was truly his own.

  
He recalled the simple joy of leaping to impossible heights in the Metaverse, and sprinting long stretches without ever experiencing the fatigue or dizzy spells that plagued him in the real world. Thanks to Madarame, he'd grown accustomed to measuring his time and effort by results alone - by the value of the work he made for others to own - but that didn't mean that was how he _wanted_ to be. He wanted to live for himself.

  
That was one more thing he envied Ryuji for.

  
Ryuji's face had radiated humiliation when Yusuke had stumbled upon him in the corner beside the women's washroom. But before Yusuke had made his presence known, Ryuji had clearly felt differently. He'd been comfortable enough to utter his thoughts aloud, as he -

  
Yusuke began to slip his fingers along his length again, and a small cry of surprise was startled out of him, making his face warm up once more. His fingertips were wet, and he felt much more sensitive than before. Suddenly the pleasure his dream had shown him seemed to be within reach, and it was enough to make him forget the frustration and relentless, crawling shame that he'd been met with during every other attempt he'd made to satisfy himself.

  
He stretched his back, and that part of him stretched too, moving beneath his hand with a mind of its own. He let it hide itself within his cupped palm for a moment, as if to rest, and tried to analyze the myriad strange sensations that his own touch could call forth.

  
The very tip was most sensitive, he decided. He'd cringed away from his own touch there, at first, but it seemed to simply need more finesse than firmness. His fingertips were still wet, and as he touched them to his own skin, his hips leapt upward, without any input from him at all.

  
His eyes went wide, trying in vain to stare down at himself in the dark.

  
He'd be the first to admit that he was inexperienced in matters such as this, but he knew enough to know what that kind of movement implied. His body longed for a partner.

  
He laughed, then, startling himself. The sound of it made his own heart stutter in his chest, and the foolishness he felt only made him laugh again, louder. He'd denied himself for years because he'd disliked the way it made him feel helpless, as though he didn't have a choice in the matter of what his own body did - but on the very first day he gave it another chance, he was already racing ahead to thoughts of acting out with another person what he was simulating by himself.

  
Maybe he had already begun to change.

  
The urge to continue was overwhelming his thoughts, and he welcomed it. He allowed his body to behave as it wished without further analysis to hamper it, and began to skim his fingertips up and down his length again. Before long he was panting, his back arched to bring himself up into his hand as his face pressed against his shoulder.

  
Within him, pleasure burned. He felt himself become even firmer beneath his hand, and before he could prepare himself, it was -

  
Every thought was wiped clean from his head for a long moment, charged with the sensation of leaving one thing behind while waiting for the next. Like the space between an inhale and an exhale, or the time spent airborne as he leapt in the Metaverse.

  
He lay still for some time, feeling as if some great force were flattening him against the floor.

  
It wouldn't do to fall asleep like this, though. He roused himself and stealthily made his way to the bathroom, even though he knew he was alone in the shack.

  
When he washed it away, he felt only tired satisfaction. The wide, flat loneliness - the white winter sky that stretched in every direction, mute and uncaring - that he'd felt every other time did not come to call. When he laid down again, he curled on his side and fell into a deep, thick sleep. He did not dream.


	10. Warmup

Ryuji squinted at his phone for a good minute or two until he woke up enough to figure out that yes, Yusuke really was sending him goddamn chat messages at 7:12 am.

  
RYUJI: are you serious  
YUSUKE: Good morning.  
RYUJI: did you forget what day it is?  
RYUJI: shit, did i forget what day it is  
YUSUKE: It's Sunday today.  
RYUJI: uh, you don't sleep in on the weekend? cuz i do

  
Unfortunately, Yusuke apparently thought that needed an extra long response, so in the time it took him to word vomit all over their chat, Ryuji had a chance to look at his other notifications, the ones he'd been ignoring since he'd gotten out of the Metaverse yesterday. Before, chatting with Yusuke about art shit until he was falling over tired had helped him forget they were there, but now he'd seen them and it was like they were fresh all over again.

  
Akira had messaged him while he was with Yusuke in the museum. Akira had wanted to hang out with him, and he'd missed it.

  
He just laid there for a while. He didn't feel tired anymore.

  
The same old bullshit started up, of course. Good old idiot brain had lots to say about this. Akira had messaged _him_ this time. Akira had set aside time for him, and he'd said he was sorry for embarrassing him, and he'd used a fucking wink emoji on him, like they were -

  
Yusuke finally got out whatever he was trying to say. Ryuji switched back to his window immediately.

  
YUSUKE: I apologize for waking you. It was selfish of me. If you are available, I was hoping you'd accompany me to the Palace again today.  
RYUJI: no big deal i guess  
RYUJI: i should turn my phone off at night anyway

  
He'd gotten into the habit of leaving his vibrate on during the day and his volume on at night in case Akira messaged him. Couldn't hurt. Not that it helped while he was in the Metaverse, of course.

  
RYUJI: you don't do shit on the weekend though?  
YUSUKE: I would usually be setting up my palette by now. But Madarame has shown his face again. It would seem that he will be here for most of the day.  
YUSUKE: I'd prefer to avoid him if possible.  
YUSUKE: But I understand if you have a previous engagement. It can't be helped.

  
Yusuke was somebody who could benefit from learning how and when to use emojis. Ryuji couldn't decide if what he'd just said was snark or not.

  
RYUJI: nah i'm free

  
The same old bullshit tried to talk him out of it, tried to convince him to say no and stay in bed to 'sleep', but he was able to shut it down in time. Too early in the morning for it to really pick up steam, maybe.

  
RYUJI: guess i wanna get out of here too  
RYUJI: gimme an hour, k? you're out in the boonies

  
\----------

  
Yusuke washed and dressed with more care than usual, even though his clothing would soon be replaced with his Metaverse suit, and his face covered by his fox mask. He paced, ill at ease, which seemed to be his natural state of mind these days.

  
Madarame had been absent for a stretch of several days, and a strange bitterness had settled in, colouring his thoughts of him. Expectations were not being met, expectations that he hadn't actually been conscious of until now. Now Madarame had returned, already busy with phone calls on the first floor, even at this hour, and that displeased him too. He should have appreciated the solitude more before it was taken away again.

  
The less he saw of him, the better. If Madarame overheard the sound of his footsteps, he'd know he was awake, and that could lead to any number of unfortunate lines of questioning. For one thing, the work he'd promised to Madarame was yet unfinished, only roughly blocked out on the canvas and with patches of the underpainting still showing through. For another, Yusuke had more than one matter that he'd like to keep to himself now, and he couldn't be sure that his face wouldn't give him away.

  
Well. Perhaps that last concern was not so pressing. His face had always helped him to keep his thoughts to himself in the past, and now was likely no different. He was no Ryuji - he did not wear his heart on his sleeve, for better or worse.

  
Oh. Ryuji.

  
In the light of day, he could almost discount what he'd experienced last night as a second dream, one that had masqueraded as waking moments when in actuality he'd still been asleep. But he knew that was a lie. For as long as he could remember, he'd had lucid dreams and only lucid dreams. He'd always kept a small part of his self aware of his sleeping body, safe in his room, even as the rest of his mind drifted to parts unknown.

  
Of course, being aware that he was dreaming and controlling the outcome were two different things. If he could have reliably influenced his dreams, he might not have found the idea of what he'd engaged in so distasteful until last night. The act itself, he'd found, was not at all unpleasant. Quite the opposite. It was the lack of control he'd dreaded, and in the past, when his dreams had travelled down that path, any enjoyment he might have derived from the dream was undone by the sensation of being left helpless to the whims of his own body.

  
He'd felt the same way when his dream had started to go that way last night, or he'd begun to, but for once he'd been pleasantly surprised. He'd approached the dark shape within the Sayuri gallery and the shape had offered him something without speaking a word, making it clear what was available in some other manner, enigmatic but unmistakable in that way that dreams had. But the shape hadn't pushed - for once, he'd actually been able to choose. He'd made his choice within the dream and out of it, after he'd awoken.

  
But seated on the bare wooden floor of the room he slept in, the simple physical sensations were easy to forget, and now he was beginning to fear there'd be unforeseen consequences.

  
His knowledge and experience in this area were inadequate, but even he suspected that engaging in what he had last night while picturing someone he was coming to respect, someone whose company he was even beginning to look forward to, was ill-advised. If he resented the way his own body had not allowed him to choose in the past, then purposely using the memories of another person to aid him in his self exploration against their will must surely be hypocritical. The fact that Ryuji need not know didn't change what Yusuke had done.

  
And thinking of Ryuji again just brought to mind his real fear. Ryuji was suffering from... something.

  
He couldn't hope to understand it. The way Ryuji had described what he called his problem led Yusuke to believe that he was accustomed to it but also a little baffled by it himself, and the way he'd spoken of it also implied that it was unusual, even for someone with more typical habits than himself.

  
Yusuke had touched himself last night with curiosity and - it seemed silly in daylight, but - a very foreign defiance, as if finally allowing himself that physical act, the one that ordinary people engaged in every day without the need for an internal debate, could change him.

  
He _did_ feel different, though, which was what he'd wanted but was also afraid of. He wondered just how Ryuji came by what troubled him, and if he was at risk himself.

  
Downstairs, Madarame ended one phone call and began another, and the change to the background noise made him realize that he could be thinking these thoughts in the Metaverse just as easily as in the shack, without the risk of Madarame seeking him out to ask irksome questions. Ryuji would be expecting him in the fake parking lot of the Palace in only a few minutes, so he used his newfound stealth outside the Metaverse as best he could and descended the stairs silently. He slipped his shoes on and gently closed the front door behind him.

  
\----------

  
Ryuji beat him there and mooched around the parking lot of the museum, smashing up the cars with his pipe and prodding at the people lined up out front, waiting to get in. 'People' was wrong, but they weren't Shadows either - they were just greyed out shapes that barely moved even if you poked them. They must've been Madarame's customers, or the people that bought his art books, maybe, so they didn't get to have faces. Just wallets.

  
He was just breaking into a car and peering inside, trying to see if Madarame's cognition thought to give the greyed out customers car garbage - fast food cups in the cupholders, or spare yen in the console, or dust on the dash - when he heard Yusuke call out to him from behind him, further away from the museum.

  
Below his fox mask, Yusuke was actually smiling, a little. "You've started without me? But it's the inside of the Palace that needs defacing, not the outside."

  
In their chat, Yusuke had sounded sort of pissed that Madarame was back home, and he could get that. Must not feel too great to see him and just have to pretend everything was the same. But now Yusuke was... joking? Smiling, anyway. He wondered what had changed in the twenty feet or so between the inside of the shack and the outside of the museum that could get him to look like that. Yusuke was probably just looking forward to smashing shit with him.

  
Their last trip in had been weird, and he couldn't blame it all on Yusuke, either. Ryuji was weird, and Yusuke was a different kind of weird, and together they'd joined forces to make everything a new level of weird.

  
But maybe they'd gotten it all out of the way by now. He stretched and yawned, trying to wake up the rest of the way. "What's on the agenda?"

  
Yusuke flung himself up to the skylight on the roof like he had springs in his legs and waited there politely until Ryuji caught up, then answered. "If that grotesque statue still stands, as I know it must, then it would seem our mission is clear."

  
"What'd you have in mind?"

  
Yusuke just turned to look at him like he knew he'd figure it out, and he could be patient until Ryuji got there. He still had that hint of a smile, too.

  
Nope. They definitely hadn't gotten the weirdness out of the way. It was back with a vengeance. "Uh, maybe you don't remember, but. Last time I couldn't even get it up, man." Maybe he just wasn't sexually attracted to giant gold statues of old dudes. A distinct possibility.

  
"I'd assumed that the conditions were to blame." They'd made it inside, and Yusuke'd stopped trying to sneak around the Shadows too, he noticed. Now they both just ambled up the middle of the hall and watched the guards watching them, like they were paying customers who'd done nothing worse than cut in line. "A shame that the face of the statue is not an option, but I suppose I see your point from yesterday. It is simply too far away."

  
Yusuke sure wasn't shy about this shit. It felt real early in the morning to be talking about this kind of thing. "Glad to hear you get it, but that don't really change the underlyin'... logistics, or whatever."

  
When he'd had to lay out his nasty problem to him yesterday, Yusuke'd been decent about it. Surprisingly decent, now that he thought about it, just like how he'd been decent about walking in on him in his corner in the first place. His problem was fucking weird, and shameful, and disgusting, but Yusuke had listened to him stammer through half of an explanation and - had Yusuke actually hugged him, after? Kind of. He'd had his dick out, but Yusuke hadn't looked, and he hadn't given him shit for it either. For any of it. And then they'd both just gone home and chatted about unrelated junk for hours more, even though Yusuke probably hadn't really gotten what he'd told him. He must've guessed that Ryuji didn't want to talk about it.

  
It made it a bit easier to explain it more now. And today had been a better day than yesterday, so far, even with the shock Akira's messages had given him. Things were getting a little easier, maybe. He'd come out the other side of this bullshit before, and he could do it again. He took a deep breath and stared straight ahead as he continued. "And, uh. I kinda don't want to? I got a streak goin'," he mumbled.

  
Hard to tell behind his fox mask, but it looked like Yusuke was trying to figure him out. "And how long is your streak? Now?"

  
Better if he kept his eyes to himself, though. Easier. "One 'n a half days for sure. More like two, two 'n a half if I don't count - " Fuck. He stopped himself there. Yusuke didn't need to know _everything._

  
Yusuke got that much, at least. "I won't press you, then." He stopped in the middle of the floor and when Ryuji looked back at him, he had a finger to his chin, a thing he'd seen him do when he was looking at pictures on the wall. Like he was thinking deep thoughts. "Though I confess it's a subject I have been wondering about myself, lately."

  
Yusuke was a fucking _alien._ "You mean _me_ jerkin' off, or jerkin' off in general?!"

  
Ryuji envied him sometimes. Yusuke could just take shit in stride - like embarrassing shit just rolled off his back. His expression didn't change, and his voice sounded exactly the same, too. "I suppose the more general - " He waved his hand around, looking for the right word. " - field, is what I was referring to. Though your affliction raises questions as well."

  
That was one word for it. "Yeah?" he asked cautiously. At least it didn't seem like Yusuke was disgusted to talk about it. Somehow.

  
"Forgive me for my ignorance, but as I told you, I lack experience myself. What is a more typical frequency? Or is the timing the true dilemma behind it?"

  
Holy shit. "You doin' a fuckin' _interview?"_

  
"Of course not."

  
That was what it felt like, though.

  
Yusuke had all these questions, and if he wanted answers so bad, Ryuji could try. As long as Yusuke wasn't flat out staring at him, anyway. Ryuji relocated them to two of the couches grouped back to back, a blue and a yellow, in the next exhibit room of the museum. He'd swiped these couches' cushions and relocated _them_ quite a few times in the past, but he was trying to be good, now. He focused on Yusuke and tried not to think about his corner.

  
"You _sure_ you wanna know? This ain't - like, you don't just ask everybody this shit, do you?" He pictured Yusuke handing out a survey to the other Thieves and snorted.

  
From behind him, out of sight, Yusuke sounded just the same. Chill as ever. "Surely that would be inappropriate." Apparently getting caught halfway through made it appropriate to talk about with _him,_ though.

  
"Uh. Yeah. You could say that."

  
Yusuke cleared his throat, and now Ryuji pictured him in front of a camera, shuffling a bunch of papers. Getting down to the hard-hitting questions. "Is it wrong to be curious? It seems to distress you a great deal." A slight pause, and Ryuji was about to answer him, but there was more. "Is it not pleasurable? For you?"

  
For fuck's sake. "We already went over this _yesterday,_ dude - "

  
"Humour me, then." And then he just left it at that.

  
Desperation made him lash out. "You - you already said that _you_ don't like it. Shouldn't be so hard to understand that _I_ don't." He crossed his arms tight enough for his suit to creak against itself. He was surprised at how on edge he felt. "And like - why do you even _care?_ Fuckin' - just fuckin' come all over the statue yourself, then! Why's it gotta be me?!"

  
"True. It's one possibility. Though I feel it would be more effective if you provided the medium."

  
That first part didn't match up to what Yusuke'd said yesterday though. He hadn't expected him to actually agree. "Thought you didn't _engage_ in that."

  
Yusuke fucking _laughed._ Just a little, with his mouth closed, but it was unmistakable. The sound made Ryuji's hackles go down a bit. Maybe he wasn't asking him all these questions just to fuck with him. It was a genuine laugh, not a sarcastic one. "Are you calling me a liar?" Yusuke said, pleasantly enough. He sounded sort of amused, if anything.

  
He tried to make himself relax a bit and sighed. "No."

  
"Because you _are_ correct. I did say that, yesterday afternoon. And it was the case. At the time."

  
Well, shit. "Hey, good for you." He laughed himself, the sound of it too loud in the empty room, but whatever. "What, did our super sexy art talk turn you on? All that shit about still lifes or whatever?" He slouched down and rested his foot on his opposite knee, then let his head tip back until he had it leaning against the back of Yusuke's head. Yusuke jumped a bit, but then he leaned back too, and they held each other up like that.

  
An annoyed huff behind him. "Of course not," Yusuke said again.

  
Ryuji could play interviewer, too. "That why you're all questions today? Because you sounded pretty against it, yesterday. You said somethin' about not liking how you didn't have a choice. Right?"

  
"I did." Yusuke's voice went a little quieter. "But I also said that I hope to change myself. If I don't ever behave differently, or think differently, then - then I will inevitably return to my old self, whether Madarame confesses his crimes or not."

  
Maybe Ryuji still wasn't getting it. "So nothin' changed other than... you? You just changed your mind?"

  
"After a fashion, yes." Another low laugh from Yusuke behind him, deep in his throat. He'd never heard him laugh before today. Not real, happy laughter anyway. "I will change. It will take time, but I will change."

  
Of course, there was one obvious reason why Yusuke was in a better mood today. Maybe he was laughing out of something more like satisfaction. Ryuji stretched his legs out in front of him and grinned, putting a little leer into his voice. "Soooo?"

  
"Hm?"

  
"What got you all revved up, man? Last night?" He laughed and leaned his head against Yusuke's a little more. "What, you draw a real sexy Panther or somethin'?"

  
Yusuke inhaled sharply and sounded like he couldn't be more offended. "I would _never - "_

  
"Never? You told me yesterday you didn't 'engage' and then, like, six or eight hours later, you're just the same as me. I musta rubbed off on you." A new thought occurred to him and he grinned wider than ever. "Don't tell me you were jerkin' it while you were chattin' with me! No wonder you take so long to type - "

  
Yusuke sat upright behind him, taking his head back abruptly. He got to his feet, and when Ryuji twisted around to look at him, he had his hands on his hips, too, and his mouth was open already, about to tear a strip off him.

  
Yusuke's face was _amazing._ What little he could see of it, anyway. "Hey, quick - take off your - " Ryuji swiped off his mask, hoping Yusuke would just follow his lead instead of arguing. He did, automatically, focused on what he was going to say instead.

  
"I cannot _believe_ the depths of your - "

  
Ryuji tuned him out, more or less, and mostly just watched his face, grinning as Yusuke blustered and gestured at him, getting louder and louder until his deep voice was booming back from the corners of the exhibit room, just like Ryuji's did when he felt like being loud. Lots of big words about how Ryuji couldn't begin to know anything about art, or Panther's elegant beauty - and that made him laugh to himself, quietly, because if anyone knew something about Ann's elegant beauty, up close and personal, it was him - or simple manners. He started to say a bunch of shit about how vile Ryuji was, how the fact his mind was always in the gutter was a mark of his intelligence, but even that didn't bug him.

  
Yusuke called him vile, but he was the one who'd started in with all the questions about 'frequency' and 'timing.' He'd called for this interview, not Ryuji. Yusuke was standing there critiquing his manners, of all things, but it was Yusuke's idea to fucking jizz on a statue of his dad, not Ryuji's.

  
If he was such shitty company, why had Yusuke wanted to hang out with him so bad?

  
Yusuke had sort of pretty eyes, he decided. They were all lit up again, like some part inside of him was having fun, even if the outside couldn't admit it.

  
Yusuke was running out of insults. Ryuji knelt on the couch and crossed his forearms on the back of it, then rested his chin on them to get a better look at Yusuke's face before it went back to normal. "You done?"

  
He sort of sputtered.

  
Ryuji smiled. "Feel better?"

  
The last little bit of anger drained out of Yusuke's face. Now he was just sort of lost looking. He spun around quickly enough that his tail thing swung side to side and sat down again on his couch without a word.

  
Ryuji reached out and gave his back a couple pats. "Wish the camera on my phone worked in here. You looked _pissed."_

  
Sounded like all his energy had drained away too. "My face?"

  
"Yeah, you went all red, and when you started in on my - " He sent his voice as deep as it could go, but he had nothing on Yusuke. " - reprehensible attitude towards - " He lost track and let his voice go back to normal. " - somethin', your eyebrows did this cool thing, like one went all the way up to here - " He waited until Yusuke turned around again and reached out to poke his forehead, halfway up to his hairline.

  
Yusuke faced forward again and gave him his back, hunching forward with his elbows on his thighs. "You are mocking me," he grumbled.

  
"'m not."

  
Some silence, then a long, fed up sigh. But Yusuke wasn't mad at him anymore. "I owe you an apology. You don't deserve to have your intelligence insulted, or your - " Even more silence. "You are not even the person I am angry with."

  
Duh. "I know."

  
He slowly sank back against the couch, and Ryuji had to move down a bit to make room. "My face actually... ?"

  
Ryuji knew what he meant. For a few minutes, at least, Yusuke's face had come alive. "Yeah, you looked fuckin' _scary._ Do that to Madarame and you'd get kicked to the curb."

  
"Imagine _that_ conversation... "

  
"He talks like he's some kinda god or whatever, but he's just some shitty old man, really. You pull that demon face on him that you just showed me and he'd be cowerin' in a closet, callin' the cops on you for yellin' at him."

  
Yusuke was smiling again.

  
Things felt different, like they'd had a fight and made up, all without anybody's feelings actually getting hurt. The awkwardness was gone, and he felt like he could tell Yusuke whatever embarrassing shit he was just dying to know. Probably owed him a favour by now, anyway. He stretched his back until it crackled, still kneeling upright and facing the back of his couch, and hung his arms over Yusuke's couch, next to where he was sitting. "Back to our interview?"

  
He scoffed. "As I told you before, it's not an interview."

  
"Yeah, yeah. Just blur out my face if you're gonna put it on TV."

  
Yusuke didn't bother rising to the bait this time. "I suppose I did have another question."

  
"'m all ears."

  
Maybe he felt like he could answer whatever Yusuke could throw at him, now, but Yusuke still had trouble with his end of it. He'd thought that nothing could faze Yusuke, but it looked like that wasn't true. Not all the time, anyway. "I admit that I have only - there has only been a single instance when I have truly enjoyed... that, but now that I am firmly in the category of... "

  
"Say it." He punctuated it with a punch to Yusuke's shoulder, light enough that it was more like he was just pressing his knuckles to him for a second.

  
The way Ryuji was leaning over the back of the couches, they could still see each other's faces, so Yusuke turned away while he asked his question, pressing his face to his own shoulder. "How often is - that is, you have my sympathy, but I don't wish to contract the same malady that you suffer from. What frequency - "

  
Asshole. Ryuji punched his shoulder a bit harder. "Don't fuckin' call it a - don't say _contract_ either, it ain't _contagious - "_

  
"Your problem, then. If you prefer."

  
He groaned and slithered forward a little more, his suit slippery against the fabric of the couches. He hung his head as well as his shoulders over the back of Yusuke's couch and rested his hands on the seat next to Yusuke's leg. He kept thinking it was going to be easier and then the weirdness of it all would smack him in the face again. "When - when I was normal it was like one or two times a day, usually," he muttered, keeping his chin pressed to the back of the couch and his face hidden with the collar of his Metaverse suit. "It could be more, sometimes, but it felt different."

  
Yusuke waited patiently.

  
"Like. When I'm normal I don't just get fuckin' hardons from sad shit, you know? That's the real difference. If that don't happen to you then you don't gotta worry."

  
He could feel Yusuke looking at him, but he still kept quiet.

  
"If you can say no to it then - then you're good. I figure. I can't. Or, it's - it's hard, to say no. It's like the sad shit makes me wanna just... get away from it. 'N my stupid fuckin' _cock_ just... " He burrowed his face into the back of the couch until the teeth of the useless zipper at his collar dug into his neck. Good. "I must look like such a _creep,_ huh? A fuckin'... _sex offender._ I get hard on the, the fuckin' _train,_ 'n at Leblanc, 'n no one's noticed, or I don't think they have, like if they did notice nobody _said_ so, but - "

  
Yusuke had just sat there, listening to him ramble, but now he stirred a little beside him. Actually, Ryuji realized that Yusuke'd closed in the last little inch, and now their shoulders were touching, just barely. "Sad... ? I was under the impression that this was all linked to Joker. To the way you feel for him."

  
"Urgggh, that's just - " He scrubbed his gloved hand through his hair and let it thump back down to the couch cushions. "That's just my idiot brain's _excuse._ That's just - Joker don't even like me. I _know_ he don't. He's got all those older women in the redlight district, 'n older _men,_ too, like - "

  
"Should I have kept what I observed to myself? Joker's late night activities?"

  
"No," he said quickly. "No, it's better if I know. Cuz before, I thought I just didn't have the right parts, right? If Joker's straight then that's one thing. If he's into dudes, too, though, then that means - that means he just don't like _me."_

  
All the blood that had rushed to his head was starting to really pound in his ears, so he lifted his hot face and rested his chin in his hand, propping his elbow up on the back of the couch. Yusuke just looked at him, back to his deadpan face. That was better than disgust, though. Or pity.

  
"It's better this way. I'm glad you told me," he finished. "I want this shit to be _over._ I'm sick of it. I still gotta see him for infiltrations, right? So I gotta get past this... " Fuck. He'd never put it all into words before. There was no avoiding it. "Ugh, this is a fuckin' _crush._ Only - only girls n' stupid _kids_ get those, but... "

  
Yusuke turned his head a little more, just enough to flick his eyes back towards Ryuji's hips, then his face. "I believe we can rule those out."

  
There was nothing to see there right now, but he knew Yusuke was referring to what he'd already seen, or heard, maybe, back when he'd stumbled upon him in his corner. He'd probably gotten a good look yesterday, too, through his suit. "Aw, fuck off, man." But it made him grin, too. Yusuke did have a sense of humour. It was just buried down deep. He probably didn't get too many chances to pull it out.

  
He flopped back down onto his own couch, stretching out flat on his back and getting his boots all over the cushions. What, like the staff were going to kick him out? Nobody around here'd be getting employee of the month, so far as he could tell. "So? Any more burnin' questions?"

  
"I suppose not. It would seem unlikely that I would... " Ryuji couldn't see him, but he could tell he was choosing his words more carefully this time. " ...come to share your problem. If frequency is not the true cause."

  
"Nah, man. Jerk away." He grinned again.

  
Yusuke made a disgusted noise from the other couch, and Ryuji grinned wider.

  
These couches were more comfortable than they looked, though. More comfortable than what you'd expect a museum to put out, anyway. Laying flat on his back like this was dangerous, this early in the morning. "You wanna race?" he asked through a yawn.

  
"Hm?"

  
Even now, as he was thinking about how he shouldn't let himself get sleepy, his eyelids were trying to close. He heaved himself upright and jammed his mask back on, then started stretching his muscles. "I gotta move, man. Race you?"

  
Yusuke stretched his back too, though he made it look a lot more graceful. "I hardly think I have a sporting chance."

  
"Enh. Dunno bout that." He circled the couches until he got to Yusuke's side, then waited for him to stand. "Look." He hiked up the little bit of slack his suit had until it was tight around his hips, then lined them both up and stood next to him. Ryuji measured where his own legs ended and his junk started, then chopped at Yusuke's leg with the edge of his hand where the line would be. When they were side by side, you could get a better idea of how much longer Yusuke's legs were. "You got - " He held up his fingers, stretched far apart. " - this much more leg. Seems like you got a chance to me." Never mind the fact that Yusuke had already outrun him once before, when push came to shove. Not that he'd been in peak condition for running, that day.

  
"I'm no athlete, but - " Yusuke shrugged and put his own mask on. "As you wish." He suddenly launched himself down the exhibit hall, no warning or anything, and all Ryuji could do was try to catch up.

  
It wasn't like they'd set an end point, so it wasn't a real race anyway. Ryuji fixed his form, keeping his arms in opposite time to his legs and at a firm 90 degree angle, and pulled level easily enough.

Yusuke turned his head, caught sight of him, and disappeared.

  
The fuck -

  
He had to stop running entirely and backtrack before he could figure it out. Yusuke knew he couldn't beat him in a straightaway, so he'd just gone straight up instead of forward.

  
He started laughing, delighted. Yusuke was way the hell up there, perched on top of a long rectangular thing sticking out of the wall that ran the length of the room. Housing for a vent, maybe. Yusuke waited until he knew Ryuji was looking and then literally turned tail and ran, his dorky fox tail fluttering. He was running on something made of metal but he still kept his footfalls nearly silent, somehow.

  
Ryuji got up there too, but a lot less quietly. His boots slammed into the metal and he had to take a second to regain his footing before he could try to catch up. He looked up to figure out where Yusuke'd gone and just barely saw him leaping back down to the floor again, the whole length of the room ahead of him.

  
"Thought we were _runnin',_ man - "

  
Yusuke didn't answer, but Ryuji figured him out in a minute or two anyway, after he'd gotten back down to the floor himself. He was just jumping for the fun of it.

  
He didn't make a sound while he did it, and his face was hidden, but you could tell. The Metaverse had pretty loose standards for what your body could do, especially when it came to shit like this, and Yusuke milked it for all it was worth. He threw his body higher, higher, seeming to hang in the air for longer and longer each time, and now he wasn't even jumping up onto anything. He just jumped. He ran like a bigass Shadow was after him, like it was life or death, and then flung himself up at the ceiling, his hair and his hands and his tail hanging in the air as he flew.

  
He'd slowed down to a jog while he watched Yusuke, but that just meant that now he had a good long stretch to sprint to catch up. The Metaverse let you go for hours without ever getting sore - that came later, when you got back out again - but it did give you that nice warm burn in your legs. Not soreness, but the thing that came before it.

  
It had been a long time since he'd really pushed himself, and it felt good. He remembered running outside with his track team, sweating under the sun, and he remembered doing the same with Akira, later -

  
His idiot brain made a good effort. Good try, brain. But he kept his eyes on Yusuke and shut that shit down. The exercise took over, like it used to, and he thought only of his breathing, and his form, and the tempo of his feet hitting the floor. And his idiot brain gave up.

  
Yusuke'd gotten it all out of his system, it looked like. Way up ahead, he'd sunk to the floor in the middle of one of the biggest exhibit rooms, crosslegged, and had collected all his shit in a pile in front of him. His katana, his mask, his gloves. As Ryuji got up to him he could hear him panting like he'd run for miles and, as he watched, Yusuke unzipped his suit halfway down and flapped it to cool himself off. His chest was shiny with sweat, just like his face.

  
Either his idiot brain was trying out a new angle or this was some brand new bullshit, a thing to itself, because -

  
"Well?" Yusuke got out between gasps. He looked sort of proud of himself. "What is my prize?"

  
Ryuji turned around in a hurry and copied Yusuke, collapsing to the ground and pretending he was more worn out than he really was to buy himself a minute to think. He puffed a bit and worked his gloves off but left his mask where it was.

  
Was this the same old bullshit, the same problem that had kept coming back for years? But he'd talked all that shit out with Yusuke on the couches a few minutes ago, and even though it had been awkward as hell, his cock had been good then. It had behaved itself, unlike yesterday and unlike now. Or was this just leftover from accidentally thinking of running with Akira? But he'd shut that down before it could get going. Or he thought he had. He wouldn't have been able to keep running with a hardon, anyway, which he unfortunately knew from experience.

  
He stared at his lap. You couldn't really explain it away when it was staring you in the face like that.

  
Fuck. He'd seen enough sweaty dudes for a lifetime, in the locker room and out on the track. Things were good on the track team, so his problem had been hibernating back then. He'd been in a room full of naked dudes dozens of times and he'd just felt... good. Tired. Happy. None of this shit.

  
He'd never seen _Yusuke_ all sweaty though. Or his chest.

  
He rearranged his belts carefully to hide himself - at least his Metaverse suit gave him _that_ \- and flopped on his back, then started laughing. Just breathless huffs at first, but then it really got going and he let it roll out of him in a crazy avalanche of noise until it echoed back from the walls.

  
Did he even have _standards?_ Did he have any fucking taste whatsoever? Akira had just been _nice_ to him. He'd hung out with him for a few weeks and they'd worked together on the same team, doing their Phantom Thieves shit, and that had been enough. Now he'd known Yusuke for less than a _month_ and he'd gotten to see like six more inches of sweaty skin than he usually got to see - oh boy, _oh boy,_ some skinny dude's sweaty fucking chest, how _erotic_ \- and that was it. That was all his dick needed. Off to the races.

  
Looked like only Morgana was off limits to his randomass preferences. If he _had_ preferences. Good thing he was a cat or Ryuji might get all worked up over him, too.

  
Yusuke must have shit luck to wind up hanging around someone as fucked up as he was.

  
He took off his mask and undid his red scarf thing, then used it to mop up all the sweat and tears of laughter from his face. When he opened his eyes, Yusuke was peering down at him, upside down.

  
Oh, right. Yusuke had asked him something. He backtracked until he remembered. "Yup, you beat my ass. In the, the high jump competition, or whatever you were doin'." He grinned and felt a bit better. You couldn't be too stressed out if you were thinking of Yusuke bouncing all over the place. He'd have looked goofy if he hadn't also looked so happy doing it. You could tell he didn't feel a bit self conscious, jumping like that. It sort of made him happy, too, just to see it. "Whaddyou want? For your prize?" He had a bit of money on him, or he did back out in the real world. Probably enough for beef bowls or something.

  
Yusuke was _still_ panting. Metaverse or not, he was no athlete, just like he'd said. His face was a sweaty mess, and it dripped from the ends of his hair, too. Ryuji looked away in a hurry and interrupted him before he could answer. "Hey, use your - your sash, thingy. Take it off and - " He wiped his own face with his scarf thing again to demonstrate.

  
He did, and toweled off his hair with it, but didn't answer right away.

  
Ryuji couldn't risk looking at him again, not with his skull mask off, because who knew what his face was doing right now. So he starfished on the floor and stared at the ceiling, just waiting for him to answer and praying for his dick to go back to sleep before Yusuke wanted to move on again.

  
When it came, Yusuke's voice was sort of introspective. "Have you by any chance changed your mind? About our project?"

  
"Huh?"

  
Another laugh from him, again with his mouth closed. More like an amused humming. And then Yusuke knelt by his head, coming back into view, and gestured at him with a wave of his hand. He fucking sat close by and _pointed,_ like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like he thought nothing of it.

  
Ryuji was still hard. He'd covered it up with his crisscrossed ammo belts, and they did still cover the right area, even after he'd laid flat on his back. But the bulge of his cock in his suit held up the belts, too, and you could see light between them and the suit, if you were down at floor level like the two of them were right now. That must've been what tipped off Yusuke.

  
Ryuji curled up on his side, covered his bare face with his hands, and groaned. He came very close to barking something at him, something like 'the fuck is wrong with you,' maybe.

  
But he stopped himself at the last second, because this was funny, too. Uh, what was wrong with Yusuke? More like, what was wrong with _him?_ He should just expect this out of Yusuke by now. He was the one who didn't know what the deal was, not Yusuke. His groan just turned into more dopey laughter, bubbling out of him and completely uncontrolled.

  
The first time Yusuke'd come upon him in here, busy as a little bee in his corner, he'd had his dick in his hand. It was obvious, by context, even if Yusuke hadn't seen anything, and Yusuke had to have seen him soft, later, while Ryuji was looking for him with his suit ripped wide open. And when they'd chatted, Ryuji had brought it back around to that again and again with awkward dick jokes, like he really didn't have anything else in his life to talk about. He kind of _didn't,_ right now. The second time, yesterday, when they'd come in together, what had they done? It was mostly sad shit, but they'd also talked about their jerk off habits, like that was just a thing you did with dudes you barely knew.

  
Nice to meet you, Yusuke. Sad shit gets me all hard and throbbing, how about you?

  
And they hadn't just talked about it, yesterday. Yusuke'd seen it through his suit, just like he had now. He was sure of it.

  
And now, the third time? What had they talked about? What had he _teased_ Yusuke about? Which subject had he volunteered a shitton of information on, when Yusuke hadn't even really pushed him all that hard to open up about it?

  
No wonder Yusuke thought he wanted to get off, and didn't mind talking about it. Any idiot would have thought the same, with the way Ryuji'd been acting. Why _wouldn't_ Ryuji want to help him get the statue of his dad all grody with jizz? Ryuji'd thought of it himself, yesterday. He'd thought he could help Yusuke while he helped himself. Two birds with one stone.

  
He'd come here to take his mind _off_ this shit. Real good job he'd been doing, bringing it up with Yusuke every chance he got.

  
But right now, at least, his idiot brain was silent.

  
It was just the rest of him that was sort of curious. It wasn't the needy rat track thoughts that had kept him awake every night until very recently, sweating and lying on his belly to make it harder to get at himself. Counting the minutes until he gave in, not if but when. It wasn't the part of him that so helpfully inserted Akira into any and every goddamn train of thought he had at all times of the day. He'd barely thought of Akira since he'd been in here, today, and when he had, it had actually been pretty easy to put him back in his box again. The Akira that lived in his head had given up without a fuss.

  
He laid on his side in the middle of the floor of the exhibit room and craned his neck, then bent his back, the material of his suit trying to stick to the glossy floor, until he could see Yusuke again. His knees, anyway. He was still kneeling on the floor, and when his face came into sight, he just had that deadpan face on again. No disgust. No judgement.

  
"Heh. That really what you want for your prize? You want me to - to wreck that statue for you?"

  
A solemn nod from Yusuke, upside down above him.

  
"I don't think gettin' it in the face is, like. Feasible. It's gonna have to be the feet or nothin'," he warned.

  
"I think that will serve us well enough. The face of the statue may have been overly ambitious."

  
He searched himself. His idiot brain could be real persuasive. And it was possible that his dick was just talking him into it. But it really did seem like things were different. It _felt_ different, at least. "I'm doin' better today. Maybe a day n' a half is long enough, anyway." He sat up and collected the bits of his outfit that he'd taken off, then walked out of the exhibit hall in the direction of the statue, Yusuke right behind him.


	11. Iconoclasm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While False Start is on hiatus, I think we will switch to a Friday update schedule for Graffiti.

Same old room, with the staircases on either side. Same old ugly statue. The foot that Ryuji had scraped the gold off of yesterday was shiny new again, and so was the one that Yusuke had scratched pretty flowers into.

  
They'd gotten all the way here, and he was still hard, beneath his suit and his crisscrossed belts. The belts had helped with that, actually, hiding him but also rubbing him a little as he walked. He was ready, or mostly ready, but -

  
"Are you certain this is... " Suddenly Yusuke was all hesitant. "Will this harm you? Will it worsen your... problem?"

  
_Now_ he cared what was good for him? He'd talked Ryuji all the way up to the hand of the statue, yesterday, and he'd have done it right there if his dick had cooperated. Twenty feet up. Now they were just talking about him doing it on the floor, but Yusuke was having second thoughts.

  
He sort of got why though. Yusuke just hadn't understood it until now, maybe. His problem.

  
But he felt good. His problem was sleeping today, like he'd managed to leave it behind in his bedroom when he'd run out the door. Too early for bullshit. This was just... _normal._ He wasn't thinking of Akira, either the real one or the one who lived in his head. He tested it, over and over - Akira. Nothing. Akira winking at him? Nothing - but his problem didn't bite. He wasn't hard because he was thinking of sad shit, either. He was about to get off just because he wanted to, not because he had to. Like a normal person did. He savoured it.

  
He took his skull mask off again and tossed it to the floor, then turned to Yusuke and smiled. Why hide? Yusuke'd seen his face when he'd been crying, and when he'd been all fucked up and hard over sad shit yesterday, too. But Yusuke was still here. He'd asked him back again.

  
"Nah. I'll do it."

  
"But won't you... "

  
"I never - I never took a _vow,_ man." On the days he went without speaking a word, alone in his classroom and alone in the afternoons, too, he had sometimes thought of it as a vow of silence. Like he was some kind of monk and it was by choice, not because nobody would fucking talk to him.

  
His problem could be like the opposite of that, he realized. If his vow of silence was something he wanted to break asap, then this was more like a vow of celibacy, something he wanted to keep going as long as he could.

  
One and a half, two and a half days since he'd given in. The longest he'd gone in a long, long time.

  
But maybe trying to keep his streak going wasn't the way to go about it. Explaining it to Yusuke on the couches had made him figure it out a little better for himself, and it really wasn't about the frequency, as Yusuke'd called it. It wasn't about how often he did it at all. It was about what got him there in the first place.

  
"I'm sorry?"

  
"Like. I never took a vow of _celibacy,_ or whatever. I don't think that'd work out too well for me." He laughed - there was an understatement if ever there was one. "I think maybe I gotta practice... like, bein' normal. I gotta figure out how to do it because I want it, instead of just goin' without as long as I can 'n then bein' sad when I fuck it up."

  
Yusuke looked like he still didn't get it, not all of it, but he didn't either, so that was fine. He was just shooting in the dark himself. But maybe now he had something to go off of.

  
At least his belts were covering him this time. He pulled his arms away from his body, just like he had yesterday, and straightened his back. "Open me up, dude."

  
He kept his eyes open, feeling a little braver this time. Yusuke drew his katana like he always did, but the deadpan expression on his face faltered for just a second. He actually looked kind of nervous, maybe. But his hands were steady, and he pulled Ryuji's suit away from his body, then lined things up until the blade was just barely touching the material. The tiniest bit of pressure, and it was done.

His suit parted: a little slit exactly halfway between his bellybutton and his junk, just like before.

  
Things felt awkward again, though. His suit didn't leave a lot to the imagination. He spun back around and got his belts off, hissing as his cock caught on them on their way down. He stripped his gloves off and thwapped them to the floor, then stepped over the velvet rope that surrounded the statue.

  
Yusuke was right behind him.

  
"Wh- " He started laughing. You had to. Yusuke was so fucking awkward. "Thought you said this was a one man job?"

  
He couldn't see him, but Yusuke's voice had that stubborn tone he got sometimes. "I was under the impression that your legs become weak at the critical moment."

  
"I mean, yeah, but I was just gonna - " He climbed up on top of the platform thing that the statue stood on and knelt down to demonstrate. If he did it like this, he could lean forward, hold himself up with one arm and get one of the feet good and gross.

  
Yusuke still hadn't given him any space. Now he stood next to him, up on the platform, and flicked his eyes up to the statue and down to Ryuji's lap, calculating. Back to that, huh. But he'd agreed to this, and he at least had his suit in the way.

  
"Stand."

  
Yusuke'd been criticizing _his_ manners? He needed to work on his own. "I _told_ you, if I do it standin' I'm gonna fall right offa this thing - "

  
Now Yusuke took his mask back off, so they were the same again. But he had the deadpan face on again underneath it. Could've just left it on. "And as I told _you,_ I will keep you upright." An almost smile. Like he wanted to smile but his mouth couldn't commit. "I will not let you fall. Focus on our project."

  
This was going places he didn't like. Or maybe just places he didn't know how to handle. "I think I don't get what the project _is,_ man. Ain't I just gonna - " He pretended to jerk off in the empty air in front of his cock, still wrapped up tight inside his suit and half asleep now.

  
Yusuke curled his lip at the gesture but nodded reluctantly.

  
"Then lemme get to it, before I change my mind." Before his idiot brain could make it all fucked up again, was what he was really thinking. He began to widen the slit in his suit, wrenching it open with both hands and hoping that Yusuke would get the hint and get his ass behind the velvet rope. Maybe even leave the room.

  
He was full of objections, though. "You really propose to - to take creative control? If we are to do this _right - "_

  
Ryuji started playing chicken with him. He locked eyes with Yusuke and used both hands to stretch the opening in his suit wider and wider. Yusuke looked from the opening up to his face, but didn't get off the platform. He muscled it wider, glancing between the opening and Yusuke's face to check how close he was, until his fucking pubes were showing. Yusuke didn't look away.

  
He glared at Yusuke and started touching himself right in front of him. See how he liked _that._ He hiked up his junk in his hand, still leaving the last little scrap of his stretchy suit between himself and the air, and ran his fingertips over himself through the material until his cock was just barely contained.

  
Yusuke won. He looked at what Ryuji's hand was doing the exact same amount as he did his face, like neither interested him any more than the other. He just stood there, waiting.

  
"For fuck's sake, Fox - " He turned back towards the statue and gritted his teeth. Looked like he really was going to have to do this on his feet. "How're you even s'posed to keep me up, huh? I weigh more 'n you, I bet - "

  
"I am strong. In this world, at least." Yusuke got behind him and, just like when he'd hugged him yesterday, Ryuji saw Yusuke's arm come between his own arm and his chest, circling around his middle and holding him tight. The other came around his other side and held him around his chest.

  
Holy shit. The fuck was _this._

  
Ryuji let out a shaky breath and cautiously moved his head. If he moved it back a few inches, it would rest on Yusuke's chest. If he turned it to the left -

  
Yup. There was Yusuke. Looking over his fucking shoulder.

  
Ryuji's voice came out in this pathetic little squeak. _"This ain't part of the deal - "_

  
Yusuke loosened his arms immediately and took half a step back, all that the platform would allow.

  
Oh.

  
He'd freaked out, thinking... well, he didn't actually know what he'd been thinking. It had just felt very final all of a sudden, with Yusuke's arms keeping him in one spot. He actually was kinda strong in here, even if he didn't look it. It was easy to forget that he was the team's heavy hitter if you weren't in battle, watching him divide Shadows neatly into halves.

  
But no matter what his rational mind said about how fucking weird this all was, his cock liked it. Of course it fucking did. It wasn't like it was all that picky these days. It had made it out of its prison, the last fluttery scrap of his shredded Metaverse suit, and stood mostly hard, like it was just daring Yusuke to step close enough to see it again now that it was out for some air.

  
And as good as he'd been feeling for most of today, there was always the chance that the gnawing bullshit might come back. Sad shit, or the Akira that lived in his head. But if he was with another person -

  
His brain gave him a little flash of him and Ann from two years ago. A few seconds of him feeling her up on her bed, both of them grinning like idiots. A second more of her laughing at him around a mouthful of his cock, both of them all hyped up on the knowledge that they were doing something they weren't supposed to. Sharing a secret.

  
If he was with another person, it was a good thing. Yusuke grabbing onto him might keep him down here on earth with him, grounded in reality, instead of in his head, obsessively cataloguing every way that Real Akira didn't want him. Making up new scenarios for the Akira in his head to star in.

  
The little blip of time he'd been with Ann wasn't the only time he'd been normal, but it was his favourite normal. Doing shit like this with another person was the best proof he had that he could _be_ normal.

  
Not that he was going to treat Yusuke the way he'd treated Ann. This was pretty different. But maybe him being close by would be enough to make a difference.

  
He sighed. Then he rested his balls in his palm with one hand and reached out blindly behind him with the other, snagging the material of Yusuke's sleeve. "That's, uh. That's probly the best way to do it. To hold me up," he muttered. "If I gotta be standin'."

  
Yusuke came back, and now they were actually doing this. Whatever you called this fucked up thing. He wrapped his thumb and first two fingers around his cock, and Yusuke wrapped his arms around him, and they both just looked down at where his hand was, motionless for now.

  
Yusuke'd already seen it. It seemed pretty pointless to tell him not to look now.

  
The silence made him want to just about crawl right out of his skin, though. "Like, is there a _reason_ I gotta be standin'? A, an art? Reason?" he blurted out. He squeezed his eyes shut and started moving his hand.

  
He could still feel Yusuke's chin resting on his shoulder, though, pinning both of their bigass collars out of the way. And he could feel little puffs of his breath against his neck, too.

  
"Hm," Yusuke said, like this was all just art talk to him. Like he was at fucking Kosei. "Well, I suppose we might relate your posture - " He squeezed him, his chest and his stomach, just for a second, to indicate what he meant, and - and why did that _help?_ Why did that do _anything?_ Ryuji felt warm there, where his hands were, and his cock fucking _responded_ to it, _why -_

  
Before he could stop himself, he let out a little embarrassed noise, but what he was doing with his hand at the same time just made it turn into a moan.

  
Yusuke'd been halfway through explaining the standing thing to him, but he'd cut him off with that _noise,_ he'd seriously just done that _now_ of all times - and Yusuke just kept going, something about relating the posture of this fucked up thing to defiance, something something ephemeral art, something something finally taking back from Madarame -

  
He was _serious_ about this shit. The realization hit him like a plank. Some little part of Ryuji, in the back of his mind where he couldn't get at it right away, had thought this whole weird setup was, well, a setup of some kind, like Yusuke wanted an excuse to - well, it fell apart at that point, because Yusuke was just looking, not touching. Not touching in a way that would _get_ you anywhere. And it would've taken Yusuke a lot of effort and patience to just give him a weirdass dirty hug, or whatever you framed this as. So he had to just. Sincerely want this. Yusuke just literally wanted him to fucking come on this statue of his dad, For Art, and he was going to help Ryuji do it, For Art.

  
He'd started to worry that Yusuke was twisty and sneaky and thinking on levels he'd never understand, but maybe he was just the most straightforward guy he'd ever met.

  
It helped.

  
Yusuke wanted this so bad? Ryuji could help him out. For Art.

  
Yusuke was still droning on - something something bodily secretions in contemporary something - and that helped, too. Easier than the silence, at least. Ryuji opened his eyes again, peered down at himself and focused on what he was doing.

  
He was further along than he thought. It had been so long since he'd done this out of plain old want, or boredom, or pent up hormones, that he'd almost forgotten his own body's signals. For weeks and weeks it had been the ugly panicky bullshit tying up his thoughts and now that all that shit was sleeping, it felt so simple. He could just move his fingers and feel good. He laughed, because he felt - he just felt happy. He felt normal.

  
His laugh had stopped Yusuke's art sermon, though.

  
So what? Yusuke'd been looking all this time anyway. So what if he was silent too. It wasn't like Yusuke was going to be grossed out. He'd fucking begged him to do this. And Yusuke was whatever you called someone who was a step beyond even a virgin. Someone who hadn't even touched themselves and liked it until like eight hours ago. He figured someone like that wasn't going to be real judgemental of whatever results he was going to be able to come up with.

  
He sighed, grinning down at himself, and rocked on his heels a bit, stretching against Yusuke's chest. He'd asked for this. Yusuke'd wanted this, exactly _this,_ so Ryuji was going to let himself be comfortable. Fuck all this awkward shame shit. He let the back of his head touch Yusuke's chest, just barely able to see himself now, then let the top of his head touch Yusuke's face - his jaw, probably - and relaxed, letting Yusuke prop him up that way, too.

  
Some precum, now. He slicked it all around the head of his cock with his thumb, slow and careful, and it felt so good he arched his back, going up on his toes for a second or two. "Fuck... " he whispered.

  
A noise, right in his ear. Yusuke'd gasped, surprised.

  
Maybe he was heavy, though. He should probably get on with it if he didn't want Yusuke to collapse. Two bandaids wouldn't be enough for a couple of head injuries, even if they were only from this height and not twenty feet up.

  
A little more, and he was close. He squeezed the head, slow and hard, and made himself stop. "You ready, man?" He was surprised at how rough his voice sounded.

  
Yusuke planted his feet, then tightened his arms around him. "I am." Ryuji might have sounded different, but Yusuke still had that business as usual voice.

  
He shut his eyes and got on with it. Deep strokes now, long and hard, and fuck, it was good. It was like he got to have some say over things again. What his brain did, and what his cock did. He held his breath, sped up and just as he was almost there, just as his knees started to give out -

  
Yusuke moved one of his hands, the one that had been splayed over his side, and covered Ryuji's hand with it. He _moved_ him, he used his hand over his to _point_ him in a different direction, he was -

  
Yusuke's voice, deeper than ever and right in his ear. "There." An order.

  
Ryuji came on command.

  
His mind emptied. He pulsed and pulsed. He tried to lock his knees but wound up barely supporting any of his own weight, because his back was arching right into Yusuke, and, fuck, that was - Yusuke was - it was pressed right into his _back,_ Yusuke was just as hard as he was -

  
He came back down and as soon as he could get his feet under him, he shoved Yusuke's arms away, slippery suit against slippery suit, and bellied up to the statue, keeping just an inch between its surface and his front. He tried to catch his breath and wondered how exactly you moved forward from something like this.

  
But Yusuke just hopped off the platform to give him room. Ryuji got down to the floor on the other side, at the back of the statue, and looked at him warily.

  
Yusuke's suit had a little more room than his did, but, yeah. No mistaking it.

  
Did Yusuke expect him to be his... support, now? Whatever you called what he'd just done? Was it his turn?

  
Yusuke was just looking at the statue, though. He'd climbed back up and had his face right in close to where Ryuji must have -

  
"Well done." Yusuke was _smiling._

  
His legs still felt kinda loose and unreliable. He sat on the corner of the platform, his back to Yusuke, and tried to get his belts to cover him again. "That - that all you wanted?"

  
Maybe he was on the hook for something, now. Probably something he should've hashed out before he'd agreed to all this fuckery.

  
Yusuke just went back to art talk, though. "I am satisfied. _More_ than satisfied. Look! This loathsome statue raises its arms in exaltation of Madarame - " He copied the pose that the statue was in, arms out and hands up towards the ceiling. " - and urges the visitors to examine it for a closer look. But when they do - " And then Yusuke sneered like a fucking devil. Ryuji hadn't seen that face since Goemon came out. " - they will be in for a nasty surprise. They will see how base and _vulgar_ this place truly is. They will see what _Madarame_ is truly like."

  
Yusuke'd called him vulgar a bunch of times in the past, but he'd never seemed pleased about it until now.

  
He was happy. Yusuke was happy. Maybe what they'd just done wasn't anything to worry about. "Uh. Glad to help, I guess?"

  
Yusuke came around to his side and got close, just a couple inches between them, but he didn't look anymore. He leaned his ass against the platform, long legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankle, and stared straight ahead. "Are you alright?"

  
"Sure?"

  
"Your problem is not... ?"

  
So far as he could tell, Yusuke really was just asking. He didn't seem to be expecting anything more, and he sounded genuinely concerned. Ryuji let his shoulders relax. "Yeah. 'm okay. That was - that was actually - " Uh, maybe that was going too far, telling him it had been good. He went a different direction at the last minute. "You really are fuckin' strong in here, huh?"

  
That polite amusement noise again, a laugh behind his closed lips. Like he thought so too, but had to be modest about it. "So it would seem."

  
Ryuji clapped him on the shoulder and dropped down to the floor, then gathered up his shit. They had no way of knowing the time, so they headed back out, just making conversation and walking at their own pace. When they hit the parking lot, they made plans to chat later, like it was all just routine now. After they'd wavered back out into the real world, Yusuke turned on his heel and went back inside the shack, and Ryuji went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Weirdass dirty hug" is my finest work, I might as well retire from writing right now


	12. Doublethink

When times were bad, it was almost painful to be alone in his bedroom. Being alone meant there was nothing to stop him from giving in, and if it wasn't that, it was looking at all his old fitness shit that he couldn't get rid of.

  
But after he got back from the museum, it felt like a whole different room. Ryuji spent a half hour or so giving it a good clean, slotting his manga back into place and dusting all the surfaces. He stashed his dumbbells and gym bag in the closet, and even that felt like a big step.

  
While he cleaned, his idiot brain was silent. He felt so good that he even dug out his homework.

  
He'd missed a shitton of assignments, of course. When he was sitting in class he was able to keep it together, a lot of the time, because if everybody around him had their heads down, thinking hard, it was easy for him to do the same. His mind did wander sometimes, if it was an extra bad day, but in class it was easier to be good than not. It was the breaks between classes and lunch hour and any other time that he had to be alone, really alone, that had been more of a problem.

  
So his grades could've been worse. He wasn't failing anything, and the time he spent with his ass in his desk counted for something, at least. But his homework had been a lost cause for weeks. He had a long list of things he tried not to think about, and homework was definitely on there.

  
There was a thick stack of assignments in his bag, so he sorted through them, trying to figure out if any of them weren't already overdue. He finally found one on history that was due on Monday, tracked down the right text book, and got started.

  
He started smiling. This shit was _easy._

  
Morgana never missed a chance to take a dig at him. Stupid this, useless that. Akira didn't tell the cat to knock it off, either. And his dad had had his own opinions on his intelligence. He must've talked himself into believing all of it at some point.

  
But this kind of thing was straightforward enough if you could concentrate. He'd gotten himself all stressed out over nothing.

  
His assignment was almost finished when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He'd made such good headway that he decided a break to chat with Yusuke couldn't hurt. It was still only the early evening, and he had the rest of the day to go back to his homework.

  
But it wasn't Yusuke.

  
AKIRA: Hey.  
AKIRA: Got a minute?

  
Bringing up Akira's chat window just made him look at the old messages from yesterday, the ones where Akira had apologized for the pickpocketing thing. The ones where Akira had said he'd wanted to hang out. The ones he'd missed entirely while he'd been in the Metaverse and had never answered.

  
There was a good thirty seconds where he seriously considered ignoring these ones too. He could just stick his phone back in his pocket and finish off his homework, then blow the rest of his day playing a game while he waited for Yusuke to start chatting with him. Or he could dig through forums and comment sections and see what people were saying about the Thieves until dinnertime. That always cheered him up, when he was in the right frame of mind to remember that there _were_ things that cheered him up.

  
But he didn't ignore them. He sprawled onto his bed and got ready to type.

  
AKIRA: You'd better answer me this time or you'll hurt my feelings. ;)

  
His heart was beating faster. He knew Akira was kidding. That was just what Akira's sense of humour was like. But he also knew he'd be pulling this chat convo out again later. He knew he'd be looking at that stupid fucking wink emoji over and over.

  
RYUJI: yeah man  
RYUJI: what's up?  
AKIRA: I just missed you

  
What?

  
His idiot brain was persuasive, but it had never made him fucking hallucinate before.

  
So far as he knew, anyway.

  
But it stayed there. Akira's message didn't disappear or change to something else, something that sounded more like what Akira would really say. Akira had really typed that.

  
The seconds spun out. He slowly tapped in 'I missed you too' and just as he was about to send it, Akira sent another message.

  
AKIRA: while you were on the train, I guess. Yesterday.  
AKIRA: Sorry. Hit send too soon lol.

  
That was more like it. He exhaled hard, shaken. He'd almost sent that shit. He deleted it in a hurry.

  
RYUJI: yeah sorry  
RYUJI: i forgot to charge my phone like a dumbass

  
That only covered part of a day at best, because if he really had just forgotten to charge his phone, he still would've been able to answer Akira when he got home. Not the best cover story for not receiving chat messages while he'd actually been fucking around in the Metaverse, but it was the best he could do.

  
AKIRA: Haven't seen you in the group chat for a while, actually.

  
That wasn't even all that harsh a thing to say, and it was _true,_ he _hadn't_ so much as poked his head into their group chat for the last few days. So it was justified. Akira was the leader, and he was saying what he needed to say.

  
But his idiot brain was coming awake. He could feel it sort of poking at the edges of his awareness, testing him out. Seeing what would work on him.

  
What Akira had just said wasn't all that bad. Pretty neutral. But it was worse if he pictured what Akira's face would look like while he said it. He wouldn't _sound_ mad. Akira was good at hiding shit like that. But it was easy to picture him disappointed.

  
It was like how Akira had stopped standing up for him when the cat gave him shit. The silence was like Akira was saying, 'If you don't want to be called an idiot, why do you act like one?'

  
He'd seen that disappointed face on Akira a couple times already. Like he'd expected better.

  
He hadn't answered Akira at all, and when he checked the timestamps, six or seven minutes had gone by. Six or seven minutes of him picturing Akira's fucking face. Akira must've thought he didn't get it, so he sent another message.

  
AKIRA: Are you still interested in being a Phantom Thief?

  
Fuck.

  
He jammed his phone under his pillow, mashed his face into the mattress and made an awful, high pitched noise in his throat that he wished he could take back. He was hard as a fucking rock.

  
That wasn't the kind of question Akira would ask if he were happy with him.

  
His brain gave him a quick flash of him smashing his own phone. Bringing his screen down on the top corner of his shelving unit would do it. It was like four feet away.

  
He shoved it away, just like how he'd shoved his phone away a minute ago, but it kept coming back.

  
If Akira was going to shitcan him anyway, maybe he should do it first.

  
You can't fire me. I quit.

  
Then it would be _over._ The only way to take down this axe hanging over his head. If he smashed his phone, there'd be no more Metaverse trips until he got a new one, and that probably wouldn't happen until he got a part time job and saved up for a few weeks - a few _months,_ maybe. And by then it'd be real obvious how little the Thieves needed him. They'd have to fix things for Yusuke without him, and if they could do that, then -

  
His shoulders stiffened. He thought of Yusuke.

  
He thought of how happy Yusuke'd been to just jump in the Metaverse. Just seeing how high he could go. He thought of his pissed face, the way his eyes sort of got a spark to them when he really got going, laying into him with vulgar this and art that. He thought of what it had felt like, last night, knowing that he'd helped Yusuke.

  
He thought of the weird shit they'd gotten up to today. Of how thrilled Yusuke'd looked to wreck that stupid fucking statue, even though it'd just be shiny clean again the next time they came back. He'd helped with that, too.

 

Akira and the other Thieves were working on the whole Madarame thing inside the Metaverse. But nobody hung out with Yusuke like he did. He didn't know for sure, but he figured nobody was chatting with him one on one like he was, either. Definitely not for hours at a time, anyway. Yusuke was fucking weird, but if you put in the time to figure him out, he was a good dude.

  
It felt kind of shitty to bring it up, even to himself inside his own mind, but maybe nobody knew it but him.

  
Madarame knew Yusuke in one way. He'd known him all his life. He was his guardian. But nobody knew the rest of Yusuke like Ryuji did. It felt shitty because he'd spent only a few days really _trying_ to get to know him, but that was enough. A few days' time and Yusuke was telling him things he clearly wanted to get off his chest, because he had nobody else.

  
Just like when Ryuji'd started taking the new transfer student to the arcade, or the gym. He was patting himself on the back for being half a step toward decent. Like he deserved a medal for giving up a couple afternoons that he desperately wanted to fill anyway.

  
So that was shitty too. Like Yusuke was so pathetic, and he was so much better? Other way around, maybe.

  
But putting who was better aside, Yusuke _did_ need his help. And if Ryuji thought hard, back to when times had been better and he'd actually been able to land a hit, he knew he was useful. He _could_ be useful, in battle, at least. If he really tried to remember, there were times when he'd taken down bigass Shadows all by himself, cracking his pipe down on bones and aiming his shotgun at just the right spot and at just the right distance for the maximum amount of carnage. Ann and Akira had slapped him on the back, and told him he'd done a good job, and thanked him. He'd grinned at their sweaty, beaming faces and they'd grinned right back.

  
He pulled his phone out from under his pillow. Seventeen minutes had gone by since Akira's question.

  
RYUJI: yeah. i still wanna be a phantom thief  
RYUJI: i had an off day last time. last infiltration. sorry  
RYUJI: i'll check the group chat more  
RYUJI: sorry

  
Sorry. Sorry I'm such a fuckup, Akira. Please forgive me, boss. Sorry.

  
AKIRA: It's not a big deal.  
AKIRA: Just try to remember. We haven't really figured out anything new lately anyway, but you never know.  
AKIRA: How're you and Yusuke getting along?

  
The fuck did _that_ mean?

  
His brain ran the tape of all the times he'd been with Yusuke in front of Akira. They'd all gone to the diner after Yusuke'd awoken Goemon. And there'd been the boring chitchat about performance art in the Shibuya walkway, until even Akira had had enough and politely changed the subject. And there was the time spent on the train on the way to the museum as they all talked around Yusuke like he wasn't there, until he brought up something he was knowledgeable about and stopped their conversation in its tracks.

  
But he'd never been in the same space as Akira and Yusuke since he and Yusuke had started hanging out more. If that was what you called it. So there shouldn't have been any reason to bring the two of them up in the same sentence. There shouldn't have been anything to make Akira suspicious of what they'd been getting up to in the afternoons.

  
What did Akira know? Or think he knew?

  
Did Yusuke say something to him?

  
RYUJI: good

  
Akira was smarter than him. The less he said, the better, and it'd be less likely that Akira could catch him in a lie. So he left it at that.

  
Now Akira was making _him_ wait.

  
For close to a month he'd hoped for this, though. Chatting with Akira again. Really, he'd just wanted to go back to the times when he'd stationed himself out in the hallway after school, and then Akira would come out of his class, and they'd head off to do shit. There'd been no question to it - it was a given. Before the flower store, before the creepy-hot doctor in Yongen, before Ann, Akira's afternoons had been for him.

  
Oh. Ann.

  
He thought of a way to change the subject and seized it before Akira could ask him more awkward shit.

  
RYUJI: how bout you n ann?  
RYUJI: saw you guys on a date once, maybe

  
He had a lot of problems, but jealousy wasn't one of them. If Ann had wanted to pick things back up with him, she could've said so at any point in the two years since they'd had that unspoken thing for a couple weeks. But, since she'd kept quiet, he hoped she was happy with Akira. She'd looked happy, anyway, cozied up close to him at the burger place on Central in Shibuya.

  
Aw, fuck.

  
He read over what he'd just typed. Akira had asked him how he and Yusuke were getting along so he immediately brought up Akira and Ann? Wow, subtle. He'd just _advertised_ the way things were going. Like they were each talking about their significant others now.

  
He flung his forearm over his face and groaned. _Was_ that what Yusuke was to him? Was that how _Yusuke_ thought of him? You didn't fucking date someone by talking about what your dick was doing all the time, and then crying, and then -

  
But Yusuke'd seen him naked. The important parts, anyway. Yusuke'd seen him hard, Yusuke'd seen him _come,_ actually, and Yusuke'd been hard himself.

  
Yusuke told him shit he knew he couldn't tell anybody else. So did he. He'd never breathed a word to anyone about his problem until he'd told Yusuke.

  
Yusuke hadn't actually _touched_ him, though. He'd touched his hand, to direct him for art reasons, or whatever, and he'd held him upright, but that had been it. Maybe Ryuji'd just accidentally rubbed against him while he was coming, and got him hard that way.

  
It wasn't like Yusuke'd wanted him to take care of it for him. It wasn't like Yusuke'd asked Ryuji to hold _him_ up while he came on the statue himself. It wasn't _mutual,_ whatever you called what they did, and Yusuke'd just gone on and on about art before, during, and after.

  
It was just art.

  
AKIRA: Good.  
AKIRA: There, see? I can do that too.  
RYUJI: lol

  
Was that something you were supposed to laugh at? Did Akira mean that to come out all snippy, or was he reading too much into it?

  
AKIRA: Yeah, we're getting to know each other better, I guess.  
AKIRA: Getting sick of crepes though.  
RYUJI: yeah, she's still all about that sugary shit, huh  
AKIRA: I guess it's necessary.  
AKIRA: Don't you wish you could get right down to it sometimes though? Skip all the movies and crepes?

  
He'd thought they'd been dating, dating in the way most high schoolers did. Holding hands or whatever. Maybe he'd jumped to conclusions. Maybe things between Akira and Ann were a lot closer to the way things had been between him and Ann, a couple years back.

  
He wondered if Ann knew the score, though. Maybe _she_ thought they were dating.

  
He thought of all the people Akira visited in the red light district at night and grimaced.

  
RYUJI: i guess?  
AKIRA: She says she's never been with anyone before, can you believe that?  
AKIRA: She definitely knows what she's doing lol

  
"Oh." He couldn't help it. He let out a little hurt sound, like he'd been hit.

  
He'd looked back on that time with her so often that it was burned into his brain by now. It wasn't just that it'd been hot. It was his gold standard of what it felt like to get off and just... be done. No more bullshit gnawing at his brain. It was his proof of being normal. He'd had other stretches of normal, but that one had been with another person, and it showed that he could pull it off for weeks at a time, too.

  
It was also his proof that someone had wanted him. No one else had ever looked forward to having him in their bed, before or since. But now Ann had decided to erase it.

  
Was she ashamed to have had any experience at all? Did she think Akira would like her better if she was more virginal, or whatever?

  
Or was she just ashamed that it had been _him?_

  
He'd let a lot of time pass by without answering again. Akira seemed to want to be all TMI with him about his relationship with Ann, so he tried to figure out how to best respond.

  
RYUJI: haha nice

  
He felt sick.

  
AKIRA: Actually, I was supposed to see her today, but she picked up a shoot.  
AKIRA: Kept my evening open and everything.  
AKIRA: Don't suppose you'd want to come by?

  
Shit.

  
He was giving himself whiplash here. First his idiot brain was all wrapped up in sad shit - no, _not_ sad shit, _future_ sad shit. Sad shit that hadn't even happened yet. Akira's disappointed face as Ryuji told him his phone was broken and couldn't head into the Metaverse with the rest of the Thieves. Akira's nice but not close act when Ryuji finally saved up enough to get a new phone, and Akira had to break the news to him that they didn't need him anymore.

  
Now it had shifted gears.

  
Akira's disappointed face turned into one where he had that smirk, the one he had in the Metaverse. Sly Akira. Sly _Joker._

  
Akira's evenings were for the older women he hooked up with in the redlight district. Older men, too.

  
Ryuji was his second choice, but that didn't matter. Hell, maybe he was Akira's third choice. Maybe Akira'd just gone down his entire contact list and tried them all until somebody answered. Sakamoto would be closer to the end. Maybe he was Akira's tenth choice.

  
But Akira had never asked him to come over in the evening before. Aside from the last day or two, Akira hadn't so much as chatted with him for close to a month outside their group chat, but now he'd asked him to hang out with him _three times._ Once at the Shibuya station, just before he'd picked his pocket and found the lube. Once in the chat messages Ryuji had missed yesterday. And now he wanted him to come over in the evening.

  
He settled on his back, his left hand propping up his phone on his belly and his right hand trailing lower. He picked up his shovel and went back to digging the same old hole.

  
But something about the way his hand looked there made him think of what he'd already done today, of Yusuke holding him up and of Yusuke's hand over his, guiding him. He thought of the way Yusuke had leaned the back of his head against the back of his own, as they'd sat back to back on the couches and had their weirdass interview. He thought of Yusuke drawing his katana and opening him up to the air. The way his face had looked up close, a little freaked out but also determined, as he took the utmost care to avoid gutting him.

  
His idiot brain let up for just a second, just long enough for him to get a breath, and he realized that he didn't like how Akira made him feel. He fucking despised it, actually. This nasty drugged space in his head where Akira was disappointed in him, and wanted to fuck him, and wanted to kick him off the team, all at the same time. The Akira in his head, the one that lived in the museum, and the real Akira, the one that got to be everywhere else, had become less and less separate, and now he had no way of knowing which one was talking to him. Did Real Akira want to fuck him? Or was this just more bullshit?

  
He wondered again if it was possible that this thing his head was doing to him could make him hallucinate. He kept checking the chat he was having with Akira, but it didn't change.

  
It wasn't even anything Akira was doing. Akira was just talking to him like they were still friends. And this was what he'd _wanted._ Akira wasn't to blame. That was just him taking the easy way out. It was him. He knew Akira didn't want to fuck him. This was just friend shit. Akira wanted to have him over to play games or whatever.

  
But he couldn't handle it. He tried to see through the fog that his brain kept laying down and if he really focused, if he really tried hard, he could see how things would go. He'd roll up to Akira's doorstep and he'd humiliate himself within five minutes, tops. Akira would ask how he was, or make some other small talk, and Ryuji'd blow it. He couldn't trust himself to even have a normal conversation at this point if just having a chat convo with Akira got him all hard and ready to go.

  
And he wanted to feel better. He wanted to _be_ better. This shit had gone on long enough.

  
RYUJI: sorry man  
RYUJI: got plans  
RYUJI: thanks anyway

  
His mom banged on his door to call him to dinner, like she always did. He nearly launched his phone right into the wall but caught it at the last second and fumbled it down to the bed instead.

  
RYUJI: gotta go, ttyl

  
He tied his jacket around his waist to make himself decent and ate dinner with his mom. He even kept up his side of the conversation, telling her about the history assignment he'd been working on like he was such a good student. He helped her clean up after dinner and went back to his room.

  
It didn't feel so good to be in here anymore.

  
He'd kept his shit together during dinner but it all came right back again.

  
He wondered if Akira was still just hanging around at home, looking for someone to occupy his evening. He pulled his phone out without thinking, like his hand was on autopilot, and realized he was hard all over again. Of course he was.

  
At the last second, he switched over to an older chat convo without looking at what his fingers were doing, trying to trick his brain.

  
RYUJI: hey yusuke?  
RYUJI: you around?  
RYUJI: i could use some company if you're not too busy

  
What, did he _want_ Yusuke to see him like this, now? He couldn't keep passing it off as an accident at this point, if he was going to head outside like this and take the train all the way to the museum.

  
It was already dark out, too. Maybe Yusuke went to bed early. There was school tomorrow.

  
But Yusuke was good at taking his mind off of the sad shit, lately. And Yusuke didn't cringe away from him when he was all fucked up and hard, either. He didn't exactly seem to _like_ it, judging by that deadpan face, and judging by the fact that Yusuke only looked at him there when he had to, For Art, but Ryuji would take what he could get.

  
And his phone wouldn't work in the Metaverse. He wouldn't be able to pull up his old chat convos with Akira and torture himself with them.

  
That decided it for him. He fed his mom a line of bullshit about running to the store for snacks and left.


	13. Threshold

He'd figured that being on the train, out in public, would have made it easier to think about other things, but it didn't help as much as he'd hoped. At this time of night it was easy to get a seat, so he sat by himself under the bright white lights and tried to think of the right kind of shit.

  
Sad shit was out, obviously. So was anything the least bit sexy, also obviously. Akira was out, because he fell under both categories. He tried to think of Ann, limiting it to the snitty shit she said to him to rile him up, but it seemed like she was in both categories now too. If he thought of the old Ann, that fell under sexy shit, because of what they'd done, and if he thought of Ann the way she was now, that fell under sad shit, because she'd decided to erase what they'd done.

  
He'd liked just... kissing her, too. He'd liked the way she'd leaned into him, much more heavily than he'd ever leaned into her. He'd liked it when she sat on him with all her weight and shoved him back on her bed, like she had to push him around a bit to get what she wanted. It wasn't true, but it had felt like that.

  
But she'd erased even that. Ann must've been embarrassed that her first kiss had been from him.

  
He checked the way he was sitting and the way his jacket was tied around his waist again and again. The last thing he wanted was to flash somebody.

  
He pictured himself getting kicked off the train for indecent exposure and pulled his own hair, trying not to swear out loud.

  
The chat screen with Yusuke filled up with messages, a one sided conversation. He'd gotten down to begging.

  
RYUJI: i'm sorry. i know we already went in today  
RYUJI: you painting tonight?  
RYUJI: we never looked at the paintings much. the bigass portal ones  
RYUJI: maybe we could wreck those  
RYUJI: please?

  
Maybe the museum bugged Yusuke more than he let on. Probably a lot of things bugged Yusuke more than he let on, with that deadpan face of his.

  
RYUJI: i guess we could do somethin outside, actually  
RYUJI: i got a bit of money on me  
RYUJI: hungry? i can treat you to somethin if we get back on the train

  
Now he was just bribing him. Buying his company. And Yusuke still didn't answer.

  
Every time he checked on his chat with Yusuke, he flicked back to the one with Akira automatically. He wasn't even seeing the words anymore, until he did, and then tried to unfocus his eyes again in a hurry.

  
He thought of the two Akiras. The real one, and the one that lived in the museum. He thought of his corner. He played with the little bottle of lube in his pocket, flipping it over and over.

  
Probably that looked bad too. He took his hand back out of his pocket and sat hunched all the way forward, elbows on his knees and his head down, just looking at the floor. If he'd seen a guy on the train in this kind of pose he'd have thought he was drunk, or maybe high. But that was still better than the way he really was, right now.

  
Nobody was going to get too close, at least, if he sat like this.

  
The stops went by, and he didn't think now. It was just a roar of bad shit. Like a blizzard. The one little scrap of focus he had left was used to keep track of the stop he needed to get off at.

  
Somehow, he made it without being discovered. He got off the train and beelined for Yusuke's ugly house, but he nearly got turned around halfway because it was black as ink outside. There were those old fashioned orange streetlamps, but they barely lit up anything if you weren't right under them. It was late enough to be kind of cold, too, but his jacket was the one thing keeping him decent, so he left it around his waist.

  
There it was. The shack, slapped together and rusted all to shit, like a nail in a stream. Usually they'd all hit the Nav across the street from it, him and the other Thieves, but that had just been for appearances. In the dark, nobody could see him. Small miracles.

  
He could've hit the Nav on his phone at any time. He didn't really know _why_ he didn't. Probably just because he still wasn't really thinking. He listened to the white roar in his head and got closer, one uncoordinated step at a time, until he was flat up against the wall of the shack, his belly and his thighs and the side of his face.

  
He could _hear_ it. The shack.

  
When he touched his ear to the craggy, rusted out wall, there was a hum to it that he felt as much as he heard, like a weak electric fence. It got into his head through his pulse and mixed with the roar, and there really _was_ no thinking now. He'd thought he couldn't before but now it really was all blotted out.

  
It felt really fucking good to just stop thinking.

  
His heart had been hammering in his chest for what felt like forever, but now it finally slowed down to something closer to normal. It must've been at least ten minutes that he stayed that way, with his ear up to a metal wall in a strange neighbourhood late at night. His face gritty with powdered rust. He could've stayed there for a lot longer, too, but his hand was moving, bringing up the Nav without having to look. He hadn't _told_ his hand to do it, but this was just the normal way your body sometimes did shit you didn't tell it to. It wasn't like the way his hand moved on its own while he was thinking of sad shit, at least.

  
He hit the Nav and nothing changed.

  
Obviously that wasn't true. But it was close. The texture of the wall he still had his face up against changed into something smoother, more like brushed metal, but you couldn't tell the difference unless you moved. A little more light, brassy goldish, that bounced back from the museum, but not much - the sky was still just as dark. A little buzz of voices from the greyed out people lined up to get in, way off in the distance, but quiet enough that you could shut them out without trying too hard.

  
But the hum against the side of his face was the same.

  
He levered himself off of the wall he'd been leaning against with both his palms and realized that it had left his ear ringing, like he'd been slapped. His cheekbone and jaw felt sort of tingly, too. Weird. The way it cleaned out his head was nice, but maybe he'd better take a break from it.

  
He felt a lot better, actually. He was only half hard now, not like the dull, throbbing ache he'd been stuck with on the train, and it would go away if he kept his thoughts in line. The time he'd spent pressed up against the wall had helped. He wondered if it was Metaverse shit, detectable even from the real world if you had a Persona and got up close enough to touch it, or if he'd just given himself a little brain high from getting too close to Madarame's wifi or something.

  
He even felt good enough to laugh at the idea, but it died in his throat when he heard the scrape of a footstep on the concrete beside him, a few steps away.

  
"Holy _fuck,_ man - you just about - fuck - " he gasped.

  
Yusuke'd come after all.

  
He must've jumped down from the roof, practically silent again. Yusuke'd probably just hit the Nav from somewhere inside the shack to wind up way up there, instead of heading down to the door on the first floor and going all the way outside before pressing the icon. Or maybe he'd just been waiting up there all along.

  
Just seeing him helped even more than the wall had. Ryuji turned the rest of the way around and leaned his ass against the wall of the museum so he could get a better look at him, a few feet away.

  
He looked... good. He couldn't put it any better than that. Yusuke looked good.

  
"'m such a dumbass," Ryuji muttered to himself. Yusuke either hadn't heard him or didn't think that was worth correcting.

  
He knew Yusuke's legs were pretty scrawny under there, from the way he looked in his day to day clothes, but his Metaverse suit was cut in a way that filled them out a bit. 'Flattering' is what Ann would have said. The way he was standing, the cheap yellow light from the museum lit up one side of his slick suit, and the faintest trace of light from the sky, one shade bluer than black, picked out the edges of him on the other side. He could've been a human oil slick if it weren't for his white fox mask.

  
It was like his corner had been pulling him here the entire train ride, but if Yusuke was here with him, it changed everything. He could be good now.

  
"Hey man." He realized he was grinning like an idiot but didn't care enough to quit. "Whaddyou wanna wreck this time?"

  
Yusuke didn't answer. Instead he just came up close until he was standing right in front of him.

  
Was he pissed off? "Sorry. I know it's pretty late." He tried to put a little more space between them, but his back was pressed right up against the front of the museum.

  
Yusuke just breathed in deep and then did this thing, this thing with his shoulders and arms - it was so familiar, but -

  
It took Ryuji a second, but he got it. It was the pose from the gory redline thing Yusuke'd made over and over. It was how he'd stood when they'd had their little almost-argument over whether Yusuke would stop doing it, too. Upright posture, straight shoulders, clenched fists. He mimicked it without even realizing he'd done it at first, though he unclenched his fists in a hurry once he did realize.

  
His heart started thudding hard again. Yusuke _was_ pissed. Yusuke was probably about to lay into him again, like he had this morning when they'd been sitting on the couches, and this time Ryuji actually was the one he was mad at. It felt awful.

  
Yusuke got close, too close, maybe a foot away. It was impossible to figure out his face, in the near dark and with his mask on. He just stared down at him, silent.

  
"Fox, talk to me already - " He cocked his head, trying to figure out what the hell was going on here.

  
Yusuke kept quiet. Instead he slowly reached out, both hands at once, and settled them on Ryuji's hips.

  
Panic flared in his chest. He was still - he glanced down at himself and confirmed it. As expected. He was still half hard, and, lucky him, his crisscrossed belts weren't covering it. Not even close. He flattened his back against the wall and tried to adjust them. "Aw, don't - you don't wanna get close, man, 'm all fucked up right now - " Even worse, freaking out about it just made him harder. He'd gotten himself covered up, but now he could feel his cock straining against his suit and his belts. Like it hadn't already had enough excitement for one day. It was real greedy, as usual.

  
The wall had helped, somehow. Just letting himself zone out and pull in that hum had smoothed out the white roar in his head. But now the same old bullshit ramped all the way up again like it had never left, because of course it hadn't. He was hard now because of Akira and all the sad shit that could happen because of him, but his idiot brain switched it up easily. He was hard because of Akira, but _Yusuke_ was the one who'd see it and curl his lip in disgust. No - Yusuke probably wouldn't see it in the dark, but he was just about close enough to feel it instead. Worse, worse, so much worse. Ryuji'd begged him to come here, in the middle of the fucking night, and Yusuke _had,_ Yusuke was trying to be a good _friend,_ and now he'd feel just how much of a first class fuckup Ryuji was. He'd feel it pressed against him like an insult. Like a -

  
Ryuji shut his eyes and slammed the back of his head against the wall of the museum behind him. He whimpered like the fucking dog he was.

  
Yusuke'd think it was a threat. What anyone who'd seen it on the train would've thought. He'd think Ryuji had called him here to - to force him or some shit. To trick him into letting his guard down. Yusuke had no reason to believe it wasn't true. Yusuke didn't _know_ he was a good dude.

  
That he tried to be a good dude.

  
Yusuke didn't know him at all.

  
He thought of smashing his phone again. This time inside the Metaverse instead of outside it. He could just hang out inside the museum for good. Set up shop in his corner, next to his roommate, and get good and comfortable. He wouldn't even be lonely. He'd have visitors the next time there was an infiltration, after all.

  
Oh, hey, Akira. How've you been?

  
His cock wanted him to give in so bad? Maybe that's what he should do, then. Maybe a little pocket dimension inside a piece of shit old man's mind was where a piece of shit like him belonged.

  
Yusuke still had his hands there, though, just lightly resting them on his hips, above the top belt. Just keeping his fingertips there, really. And he didn't say a word.

  
"Just _say_ somethin', Fox, you're... " The sound of his own voice made him stop. He grimaced at how ugly he sounded and squeezed his eyes shut again, then turned his face to the side for good measure. His brain already had a special talent for recalling what Akira's disappointed face looked like. He didn't need to remind it of what Yusuke's disgusted face looked like too. He clenched every muscle in his body, waiting for it.

  
But Yusuke skimmed his hands up, up his hips to his sides, up his sides and around to his back until Yusuke'd gotten his fingers between Ryuji and the wall, and then he pried him away, gently. He just used the strength of his fingers alone, and he did it slow, like he was telling him that he could still get away if he wanted to.

  
Ryuji popped his eyes open and peered up at his face, but it was just shadows behind the fox mask. No help there. Yusuke got his hands around his back and pulled him forward, until -

  
Oh.

  
It was just a hug.

  
He tried to keep his hips back and out of contact. Yusuke didn't need to feel his fucking hardon against him if he just wanted a hug. As dark as it was, Yusuke must not have seen it, like he'd thought.

  
Yusuke just got his arms all the way around him, keeping his hands down by his waist, and closed the distance himself. Front to front, arms wrapped tight, and with his head hung over Ryuji's shoulder.

  
Ryuji thrummed in place, like a cringe that never stopped. He knew this was the second before an outburst, some expression of disgust, a second that stretched out for much longer than that.

  
But Yusuke sighed in his ear. A contented sort of sigh, like he was comfortable just as he was. And he brought the rest of himself forward until they were just touching.

  
Ryuji's eyes went wide, staring at nothing over Yusuke's shoulder. It wasn't just him, after all.

  
He knew he was fucked up. It wasn't exactly a surprise anymore. So why was _Yusuke_ like this? He didn't have the same problem, so why was he just as hard as him?

  
It didn't matter. Yusuke felt good.

  
Ryuji reached up and got his arm between them just long enough to take off his skull mask, so it wouldn't dig into Yusuke, and tossed it away. Then he sank against him.

  
He burrowed his face into Yusuke's chest and neck, just above his zipper, where his skin was cool against his feverish face. He finally let his shoulders relax and settled his arms around Yusuke's waist before he could think better of it.

  
His idiot brain was quiet again.

  
It was more of the wall. Whatever that hum had been, but better. It was Yusuke's breathing and pulse and cool skin. It was Yusuke telling him it was alright without saying a word. It was Yusuke telling him that he was the _same._ Maybe he didn't have this bullshit to deal with, but for whatever reason, right now, Yusuke and him were the same. It made it okay.

  
Yusuke started to move his hands.

  
He went slow. He skimmed his gloved fingers along Ryuji's suit, the smooth fabric whispering over the thin plasticky shit his suit was made of, and something clicked in Ryuji's brain. A little button being pressed, or a door being unlocked.

  
Yusuke liked him.

  
Ryuji grinned against his neck, grinned like the shit for brains fuckup that he was, and waited to see where Yusuke would put his hands.

  
Up the curve of his lower back, and up higher than that, until Yusuke's fingers bump bump bumped over the spine things between his shoulderblades. Up and over his shoulders, playing with the metal plates of his suit and running the pad of his thumb down the teeth of his just for looks zipper. Yusuke took half a step back, barely enough to separate them, and Ryuji lifted his face from his chest, already missing it. But it was just so Yusuke could skin off his gloves and lean his katana against the wall beside them. He was back on him in a second, leaning on him hard enough to make Ryuji's head bounce off the wall behind him a little, and now they were pressed together inch for inch again.

  
Ryuji laughed. Between a rock and a hard place. He laughed again, just to laugh, just because he could, and shut his eyes as his skin lit up beneath Yusuke's fingers. Even through his suit, he felt it all. His cock loved it, but so did the rest of him, and that made all the difference.

  
Yusuke's long, cool fingers wrapped around the back of his neck, between his overheated skin and his collar. Ryuji winced, knowing he was running with sweat there despite the temperature outside, but Yusuke didn't seem all that concerned. Yusuke cupped the back of his head and kept his free hand moving, slipping his fingers down Ryuji's arm until they found his wrist and just held him there.

  
He was so close. Close enough that Ryuji could hear his breathing, quick and shallow. But all he could see was his mask. The silence, combined with the mask, was driving him up the wall. He had to have _something_ to go by.

  
"Fox, just - just - " He did it for him. He reached up with one hand and lifted off the fox mask as gently as he could.

  
Yusuke leaned back and straightened up just enough for him to do it, and when he had it in his hand, Ryuji sighed with satisfaction. "Aw, man, your _face - "_ he whispered, grinning.

  
Yusuke'd leaned back enough for the nasty yellow light to catch the planes of his face, but on him, it looked good. One of his eyes was left as it was, dark in the shadows, but the other caught the light as if in a sunbeam and lit up a rich dark brown. Ryuji could see him better than ever before. Yusuke's expression made his grin falter, then come back wider than ever.

  
No more deadpan face. No more wall between them. Yusuke was all keyed up, his eyes hooded and his lips parted as he stared at him and only him. As he watched, Yusuke wet his lips and closed the distance again.

  
Ryuji dropped the fox mask to the concrete sidewalk as Yusuke settled his hands on the ammo belts crisscrossed at his waist and started to push them down. They caught around his thighs, trapping his legs together, but that was far enough, anyway.

  
Ryuji busied himself with getting his own gloves off, feeling like he was getting left behind, as Yusuke slowly trailed his long fingers over first his hips, then the bulge of his cock in his suit. Like he had all the time in the world. Fuck, it felt good. His cock twitched beneath Yusuke's fingers and he gasped, but there was still just enough light left in the shadows for Ryuji to see him smile, too.

  
The effort it took to hold back made him grit his teeth, but he managed to not just buck right into his hand. Just barely. He didn't want to hurtle forward at the breakneck pace he always did when he was by himself. He wanted to make it last. He snagged the ring of Yusuke's zipper pull and slowly, slowly drew it down until it hit the sash thing around his waist. All he could hear was Yusuke's breathing and the purr of the zipper as he opened him up to the air.

  
"You're so - you're so goddamn - " he whispered. He swallowed thickly and stared.

  
Make it last? He already had both hands inside Yusuke's suit, before the zipper was all the way down. Even where the suit had just been covering him, Yusuke's skin was cool beneath his warm hands. He left them where they were, circled around Yusuke's back within the suit, and locked eyes with him. For once, Yusuke's face told him everything he needed to know, and he wanted to enjoy it for a little longer before the mask went on again.

  
Yusuke had this pleading expression, though.

  
"You swallow your tongue or somethin'?"

  
Yusuke just leaned right up against him, not a bit shy, until he had him pressed flat to the wall again. He propped himself up on his forearms, crossed behind Ryuji's head, and bent his knees a little until he'd lined them up. Then he breathed in Ryuji's ear until they both felt what he was doing.

  
Ryuji hissed and thumped his cheekbone against Yusuke's as he throbbed helplessly inside his suit. Yusuke was rolling his hips, dragging one slick suit against another and grinding against him.

  
Ryuji clung on tight, pinned to the wall and gasping as his cock was squeezed between them. All he could do to contribute was rock up against him, and then he could barely even do that, because Yusuke was really getting him good now, snapping his hips and driving against him -

  
Yusuke was acting out something they both wanted. It'd be real easy to turn it from something they were just acting out, something that was just pretend, into something real.

  
Yusuke had his katana, still propped up against the wall a couple feet away, and Ryuji had the little bottle of lube in his pocket, a small weight that sat between his skin and his suit like a pebble.

  
Ryuji arched his back like a bow, shivering. Yusuke just kept it up, and now he was making these little groans deep in his chest that barely made it out of his mouth, and it was hot, fuck, it was hot, but -

  
It caught up with him. The bullshit from before.

  
One roll of Yusuke's hips against his had him coughing out a gasp of satisfaction and the next had him back in the white roar, like a wave right over his head. Too much or not enough or the wrong thing entirely. It made his nerves sing, and it opened up a pit in his stomach, too, and he thought of Yusuke, and Akira, and Ann being ashamed of him, and losing his spot on the team, and -

  
There was a beat in his head that kept time with what his hips were still doing, even now. Don't. Don't. Don't.

  
"Just _don't,_ don't you fucking do it, just - just _don't - "_ he keened, quietly, in the back of his throat. Quietly enough that he almost couldn't make it out himself. "Don't - "

  
It wasn't fair. He was like this with another person, and that was supposed to make it okay. Yusuke was hard, too, and Yusuke wanted this, too, and _that_ was supposed to make it okay. And he was here with the _right_ person. Somebody who liked him, despite everything. Somebody who wanted him.

  
But it was Akira in his head. He was hard over Akira, and part of him had stayed back in his bedroom, locked in that same shitty loop. He had his loop just like how the Shadows had theirs, inside the museum. Akira was disappointed in him. Akira wanted to fuck him. Akira was going to kick him off the team.

  
His belly crawled with revulsion. He looked at the side of Yusuke's head, both of them still at it, even as that part of him wondered if it was too late to meet up with Akira after all. He'd meet up with Akira at his place, if he wanted, or if he didn't, they could hook up in the redlight district. Akira had to have a good spot picked out somewhere, if he kept going back so much. Akira could show it to him.

  
Whatever you want, Akira. I'm all yours. If it means I can stay.

  
It wasn't fair. To him or to Yusuke. He was damaged goods, all fucked up over an Akira who didn't even exist, and Yusuke deserved better.

  
He thrashed, hard, and knocked him away. Yusuke took a couple steps back, still breathing hard and looking confused. Maybe a little hurt.

  
"Come - c'mere, man," Ryuji rasped out. Yusuke did, slow and unsure this time.

  
He could make it up to him, maybe. Maybe he could at least make sure Yusuke didn't get the wrong idea. It wasn't his fault.

  
Ryuji leaned back against the wall, legs stuck out to prop him up, and pulled Yusuke to him to stand between them. Realization lit up his face and chased away that confused, hurt look, and that helped. That look on Yusuke's face, like he knew he had something to look forward to, helped him stay strong. Yusuke leaned in nice and close and let Ryuji maneuver him.

  
He got both hands on that stripey sash thing around Yusuke's waist and yanked it down around his thighs, just like how his ammo belts were right now. He unzipped him, slowly, all the way down to the bottom.

  
He fumbled with whatever kind of underwear Yusuke's Metaverse outfit had set him up with, then pulled him free and held him in his hand, smiling up at his face.

  
"You been hidin' this from me, huh? You coulda shown me sooner. You - you coulda - " It was just nonsense now. Yusuke showed him how he felt with his face, hitching in a breath and letting his eyelids flutter shut, and now he leaned forward onto him, pressing him against the wall again and leaving just enough space between them for Ryuji's hand.

  
Yusuke was heavy like this, but it was just the right amount of heavy. Ryuji listened to him breathe in his ear and forced his own hips to remain still, like he'd clamped them in a vice. His cock and his brain were both just about roaring at him now, justifying whatever it took to get him to go back to grinding against Yusuke again, but he stayed strong. He fucking slammed the door on that shit. He rested his face against Yusuke's neck, both of them tucked inside his bigass collar, and moved his fingers.

  
His eyes slipped shut, and his heartbeat slowed. He had a job to do, and he was going to do it right. He whispered to Yusuke, brushing his neck with his lips, as he kept moving his hand. "Gonna show me what you got? Come on. You're not gonna leave me hangin', are you? You wouldn't. Nah. I know you wouldn't. Come on, come on - "

  
He'd barely warmed up to it and set a good rhythm before Yusuke was smacking his hips against him again, this time all uncoordinated and harder than before. Then Yusuke just laid on him, limp and heavy and sort of comforting, for a long minute before he finally stood up straight and tucked himself away.

  
Yusuke was eyeing him now, and even though he was back to deadpan, it wasn't hard to figure out what he was thinking. But Ryuji yanked up his belts and shook his head.

  
He said no.

  
Maybe he'd offended him. Yusuke kept his mouth shut. His face didn't show much, either, and neither did his posture. But he made himself decent, and put his mask back on, and took back his katana.

  
"It's - it just ain't a good day for me, man. I liked it, though. I _wanted_ to, I just - "

  
One second, Yusuke was looking at him, blankfaced with his mask on and just as blank underneath it, too. The next second, he was standing up on the roof overhead.

  
Did Yusuke have laryngitis or some fucking thing? This silent treatment was really starting to get to him. "Listen, I know I said I wanted to go in today, but it's late - it's gotta be late - I gotta get back already, okay? My mom's gonna - "

  
He had to be pissed this time. Yusuke just disappeared out of sight, and Ryuji knew he'd dropped inside through the skylight.

  
Fuck. It was too hard to think. The bullshit had receded but it was still simmering around the edges of his mind, and his cock was still throbbing, and now he had the time and his mom and Yusuke's feelings to worry about, too.

  
But he felt better. A little seed of pride had lodged itself in his chest. He _did_ have willpower. Some, at least. He'd just been in this weird, hot, fucked up thing with Yusuke, out of nowhere, without any chance to prepare himself to say no. But he _had._ He'd even gotten Yusuke off, he'd made him feel good - the proof was going cold in the centre of his palm - and he knew Yusuke'd wanted to return the favour, but he still hadn't given in. He'd said no.

  
He gave himself a minute, testing himself, until he knew things were going to be okay. Things were settling down. He hit the Nav and headed home.

\----------

  
Inside the shack, Yusuke rolled over in his sleep, leaving one dream behind and slipping into another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zenit-of-the-sun illustrated this chapter beautifully. Check it out here: https://zenit-of-the-sun.tumblr.com/image/175659936013
> 
> Thank you so much!


	14. Reverie

Yusuke woke to his alarm and smiled as he turned it off, his eyes still more closed than open. And after he got to his feet, even the discovery of what would have ruined his entire day, in the past, couldn't dampen his mood. He simply washed himself carefully and gathered his belongings for school in a pleasant, sleepy haze.

  
It had only been a dream, but it was difficult to set it aside, even in daylight. He had managed to surprise himself with the content - who knew that he held such depravity within him? It had been quite detailed compared to the dream he'd had the night before. But the old guilt and shame that had so plagued him in the past were seemingly banished for good. He could recall nearly all of the dream with startling clarity, and even as he let himself get lost in it once more, there was still no shame. His thoughts and dreams belonged to him and him alone, and if a dream of that nature decided to visit him in the dead of night, he was going to enjoy it.

  
He touched his own face and realized he was still smiling at the thought, and the fact that his face had conveyed how he was feeling for once just further added to his good mood.

  
His dreams had always had a vividness to them, and though he'd often mined them for inspiration upon waking, he'd also enjoyed them for their own sake. But the other type of dreams he'd experienced in the past, the type that focused more on sensation than visuals, had always left him feeling taken from. A process his own body inflicted upon him without his consent. A reminder of how little say he had in his own life, in his waking hours and as he slept, too.

  
But he'd _changed._ He'd enjoyed the dream, and though even now he found it difficult to focus on his route to the train station because of it, it wasn't its content that had picked up his spirits this morning. Not only its content, at least.

  
Before, the dreams he'd had of that nature had always been dim and drab - the only aspect of his life in which appearances were unimportant - but this time he'd been able to see everything clearly. The dark shape, left vague to the point of barely being humanoid in his previous dream of the Sayuri gallery, had leapt into sharp definition.

  
It was Ryuji, of course. It had been Ryuji both times, and it should have been obvious from the start of the first dream, when the dark shape had first revealed itself. It was Ryuji who'd taken the lengthy train ride to pay him a surprise visit late at night, in this dream, and who'd waited for him patiently outside. It was Ryuji who had looked him up and down, studying his face and body carefully, the pleasure he felt just to see him written on his face. It was Ryuji who'd left space between them, even as he so clearly displayed what he wanted, until Yusuke had made his choice.

  
And that was the crux of it. His dreams had changed because he had changed. His dream last night had had all the sharp detail of the tamer sort - he could remember _smelling_ Ryuji as he held him close, his sweat and something artificial, perhaps what he used to style his hair - but it had quickly become one of those other dreams. The type he used to dread.

  
But he'd chosen. He remembered that moment of the dream the most distinctly. He'd looked Ryuji in the eye and drawn himself fully upright, just as they both had in his earlier dream, and Ryuji had awaited his decision. Yusuke had shown him what he wanted, and Ryuji had grinned up at him as he showed him just how well their goals aligned.

  
Ryuji had whispered in his ear, coaxing him with his words as well as his hand.

  
Only a stranger jostling his elbow by chance saved him from missing his train. He set the memories of his interesting dream aside for a more opportune time and found a seat. Simple enough, given that his station was so far from downtown. The chances of him making any useful observations of the train's other occupants were slim - he was far too distracted this morning - so he pulled out his phone instead.

  
His eyes went wide. He had a dozen or more new messages from Ryuji, and even a few from Akira.

  
That was truly unusual. Akira had never messaged him before, outside of the group chat. Had he missed a group meeting?

  
An infiltration?

  
His good mood evaporated.

  
They had left it unsaid, but both he and Ryuji knew very well that removing themselves from the real world, where their phones could receive messages from the other Thieves and Akira, especially, was a calculated risk. There was always the chance, every afternoon, that Akira might decide to summon them to the Shibuya walkway before entering the Metaverse.

  
He and Ryuji had grown comfortable inside the Palace, given that the Shadows no longer saw fit to pursue them. Comfortable enough that he had nearly forgotten that every excursion inside without the other Thieves was another infraction, another instance when the unspoken rule that the Metaverse was off-limits without Akira was broken.

  
And he wondered about the underlying rules that governed that world, as he often did. There were many matters that remained obscured, even to Morgana.

  
What would happen if he and Ryuji were inside the Palace while Akira and the other Thieves decided to enter as well? The Shadows replenished themselves with every new visit - 'reset', as Ryuji called it - and the surroundings reverted as well. Madarame's portrait of him repaired itself, and the golden statue returned to its former state each time.

  
If a new Persona user entered the Palace while he and Ryuji were already present, would _they_ be reset? Or were they separate from the Palace?

  
But no. To his relief, he remembered that the same day that he had made his final redline had been the day that he had discovered Ryuji was also inside the Palace, preoccupied in the corner next to the women's washroom, and that proved they could coexist within the Metaverse even if they entered at different times. Of course, even though they did seem to be separate and safe from the reset process - even if he was merely letting his fears get the better of him - there would still be nothing to prevent Akira and the others from discovering him and Ryuji.

  
A few days before, he might have shrugged off such concerns. A few days before, if he and Ryuji had been interrupted by the Thieves, they would have only found them talking. Arguing, perhaps, or scratching the thin gold plating from that vile statue.

  
But if he and Ryuji had been interrupted yesterday, a different sort of scene would have presented itself to the Thieves.

  
It was the first time he'd considered what their project might look like to someone else. His face heated up and he rested it against the cool window beside him, momentarily too embarrassed to even look at the memory directly.

  
It truly was only an art project though. At first he'd thought of it as installation art, something to alter the space of the museum - something purely for the visitors' benefit. And seeing the result of Ryuji's involvement in it, left as boldly upon the statue as a slap in the face, had supported that. But there were aspects of performance art to it, too. It wasn't only the end result, the defaced statue. It was the _act._ It was Ryuji's trusting face as Yusuke applied the tip of his katana, as sharp as his mind willed it to be, to Ryuji's unprotected belly, parting his strange suit. It was Ryuji's clear discomfort at their proximity, his _shame,_ being overtaken by his own lust. Transition, a moment crystallized, when one thing became another.

  
It was change.

  
And it was Ryuji's posture. It was him, Yusuke, lending him his strength to keep him upright as Ryuji stood tall and proud to bring Madarame low.

  
He shut his eyes for a moment, experiencing the simple satisfaction of truth. The core of all art.

  
The fact that the statue would revert to its original state was unimportant. The fact that he'd had no method to record the act was also unimportant, though he did regret it. His memories of it would have to suffice.

  
His good mood had returned.

  
The message became clearer and clearer as he remembered the project, too. The tension Ryuji had felt, no, the _turmoil_ he had experienced as Yusuke made plain what he was asking him to do, had been broadcast from every line of his body. Every word Ryuji had spoken had communicated his reluctance, and now Yusuke knew he was smiling again as he remembered it. He couldn't have chosen a more fitting participant. Who else used their body, their face and their voice like Ryuji did? He found himself wishing once more that he had found some way to record their project, this time in order to capture Ryuji's expressions while he had supported him from behind. He knew that no recording device could function within the Metaverse, but he wished it all the same.

  
Ryuji's discomfort before the act, his shame, was counterpoint to how at ease he'd felt during. Or perhaps it was counterpoint to his relaxed, laidback manner after, as they'd made their way back outside. A fitting participant? Ryuji was the only one who could have helped him with this project. Yusuke could not imagine anyone else tipping so quickly and definitively from that defensive, cringing posture beforehand to the way Ryuji had so clearly felt during the act. No one else could have illustrated the transmutation of shame to pride the way he had.

  
Ryuji's shoulders and back had relaxed against his chest, and close as he'd been, there was no mistaking his utterances - his sighs and his usual profanity that had sounded so different in this new context. Ryuji had even felt comfortable enough to laugh as he moved his hand. What better way to show defiance?

  
They had stolen into Madarame's temple of excess and, in that cavernous vault of glittering fakery and nauseating self portraits, they had selected his centrepiece. The self portrait to end all self portraits. They had overcome their shame, together, to defy him.

  
To desecrate.

  
The risk of being discovered by Akira and the others had been worth it. He let himself bask in his own self-satisfaction, the pride of a job well done, for a moment longer before he finally turned back to his phone.

  
In the end, the messages from Akira were merely small talk. Akira had asked him how he was doing, nothing more. He carefully tapped out a brief description of the painting for Madarame that even now sat incomplete upon the easel in his room and opened his chat window with Ryuji.

  
RYUJI: hey yusuke?  
RYUJI: you around?  
RYUJI: i could use some company if you're not too busy

  
After the fact, he'd worried that Ryuji's problem had been worsened by their project yesterday. Ryuji's demeanour had been completely different upon defacing the statue than it had been when he'd been thinking about 'sad shit' the day before, but ultimately it was all more than Yusuke could make sense of, and he'd had second thoughts after they'd parted ways. Alone in the room he slept in, as he was preparing for bed, he'd made up his mind to apologize to Ryuji in the morning. Despite his satisfaction with the way things had gone, it would be selfish to put an art installation - a very temporary one, at that - ahead of Ryuji's wellbeing.

  
But looking back on his messages from yesterday, it seemed Ryuji had requested his company again. That would have made two visits to the Palace in a single day, had he received them on time. It was a nice thought. And these messages seemed to indicate that his fears of making things harder for Ryuji were unfounded. He wouldn't have wanted to return to the Palace with him if he were feeling unwell.

  
Last night, he'd intended to at least make an attempt at an essay he had little hope of turning in on time, though he'd given up on it almost immediately. The impromptu race he had beaten Ryuji in had rendered him exhausted the moment he'd wavered back into the real world, and he'd stumbled to bed without eating. If asked, he'd have said that he was far too tired to do anything but sleep, which meant his dream was a surprise on two fronts.

  
Ryuji's messages had come so late at night, too. Long after dark. He imagined himself evading Madarame and slipping out the front door of the shack for the second time in one day and suddenly knew that, despite the time of night and despite his fatigue, he'd have agreed to meet had he received the messages in time. There was no question in his mind.

  
But he hadn't even read all of them yet.

  
RYUJI: i'm sorry. i know we already went in today  
RYUJI: you painting tonight?  
RYUJI: we never looked at the paintings much. the bigass portal ones  
RYUJI: maybe we could wreck those  
RYUJI: please?

  
These had come even later last night, and now he was confused. He wouldn't have thought Ryuji's mother would allow him out that late. Of course, he knew little about how others' parents treated them in their day to day life.

  
RYUJI: i guess we could do somethin outside, actually  
RYUJI: i got a bit of money on me  
RYUJI: hungry? i can treat you to somethin if we get back on the train

  
He continued reading and realized he was smiling again.

  
What was the meaning behind Ryuji asking him to join him for a meal? Offering to pay for it, no less?

  
But he was being foolish. It meant what it said. Ryuji had taken his silence to indicate that he was against the idea of another Palace visit in the same day and had simply offered an alternative. As interesting as his dream had been, it didn't change how Ryuji felt for him. He chided himself and tried to bring himself back down to earth.

  
But even as he cautioned himself to keep dreams to dreams and reality to reality, he returned to the messages and imagined what could have been, last night, if he hadn't fallen asleep early and had instead received Ryuji's messages as they'd arrived. If the Palace had not been to his liking, Ryuji had offered to share a meal with him, but -

  
Yusuke made a very quiet, pleased hum on the now crowded train as a charming idea occurred to him. If he lived under more normal circumstances, and Ryuji had asked to spend time with him, he might invite him inside.

  
A compelling flight of fancy took hold. Instead of the rusted shack, he lived inside a modest two story house, with a true bedroom of his own that had actual furniture and even keepsakes. Items without utilitarian use that led a visitor to believe that someone lived there. Books. More clothing than he strictly needed for a single week. Perhaps even prints for the walls.

  
He liked plants. He thought he liked plants, at least.

  
He could invite Ryuji to spend time with him after school. He would actually be able to suggest an activity and have a location for it to take place in. He imagined a small kitchen, stocked with more than just the few staples that he could afford. A cupboard with snacks, enough to share.

  
It didn't have to be a proper house. He could live in an apartment. Or he could rent a room in a larger space. If the door had a lock, it would still be his. It would still be a space that he could feel at home in - enough to invite someone over to spend time together, instead of having to secret himself away inside a metaphysical impossibility just so he could have a place to speak freely in.

  
It began to fall apart, of course. He could imagine Ryuji arriving at the front door of his modest two story, or his apartment, or the larger space containing his rented room. He would invite him inside, and then they would...

  
Another area in which he lacked experience. Putting his dream aside, Ryuji was his friend, although even that thought brought with it a not insignificant amount of uncertainty. They must be friends now, if Ryuji had asked him to accompany him to the Palace more than once in a single day. And there were the lengthy chat conversations, too. Surely Ryuji at least thought of him in that way.

  
It was probably for the best that he lived where he did. The outer appearance of the shack headed off any expectations of being invited inside, which meant that he didn't have to be embarrassed to have Ryuji visit him without knowing what people did when they had a friend over. And Ryuji had already seen the room he painted in, after all, when they had met under much less amicable circumstances. Ryuji already knew what the shack looked like on the inside.

  
A flicker of shame, for a different reason but otherwise not so dissimilar from what he'd always felt when a certain type of dream visited him. He carefully steered himself back to the more cheerful part of the fantasy, where he not only had a space of his own - a bedroom, not a bare wooden box that wasn't truly his - but a little spending money as well, enough to furnish it. He began to feel truly selfish, to ask for more than he had, but his good mood carried him away with it. He imagined the items he used every day inside the room he slept in - his paints, his easel, his futon - inside another space, stowed away with care and out of sight when not in use. The idea that he could decide where his own items belonged and how to arrange them was so satisfying that he did it again and again.

  
In the modest two story house, there would be room for his art supplies in a separate, dedicated space. A painting room, but his own. In the apartment, his art supplies would share space inside a cupboard with other necessities, and he would paint in the room he slept in, just as he did now - but it would be different, too. It would be his. He would welcome even the rented room. His supplies would need to be cut down significantly, but there was value to that, too - the choices made with a limited palette could lead to new insights. Every inch of a rented room would be his, and so would every item inside it.

  
None of these living situations had any room for Madarame, of course. Madarame would simply have to find other accommodations.

  
Even as he nursed his fledgling resolve to not only commit the small acts of defiance that he had been indulging in with Ryuji but to _feel_ defiant, too, his mood fell once more. There was nothing for it. The thought of Madarame left without a place to live hurt his heart. Every attempt he made to be cruel, even if it was only inside his own mind, merely backfired.

  
With an effort, he reminded himself of the mistress, the mystery woman whose home Madarame stayed at regularly, and now he had no idea how he was supposed to feel. It was just more of the same bewildering mess. It was far too early to try to figure it out.

  
In time, he gathered his thoughts enough to return his attention to the messages Ryuji had sent him last night. These last few were sent after midnight! Surely Ryuji hadn't expected him to have left the shack at that late hour without being detected, now that Madarame was showing his face again. He'd just have to ask him about his intentions later.

  
RYUJI: wow  
RYUJI: i had no idea  
RYUJI: sorry. i'm a dumbass. you know that  
RYUJI: are you mad at me? i know it's shitty of me to just leave like that  
RYUJI: i mean, i figure it is?  
RYUJI: i dunno the rules for this shit  
RYUJI: but i had to get on the train. you get it, right?  
RYUJI: my mom's so pissed lol  
RYUJI: i'll make it up to you, okay? hit me up when you get this

  
He wondered if these messages were intended for someone else. Perhaps Ryuji had typed them into the wrong chat window. The tone seemed different from his previous messages, too, if he wasn't imagining it.

  
Perhaps he'd meant to send them to Akira.

  
RYUJI: goodnight yusuke :)

  
He grew warm, everywhere. The other messages could have been intended for anyone, and they only mystified him more the longer he looked at them. But this last one had been for him, without question.

  
His pleasant, dreamy reverie overtook him again, and he missed his stop. He had to switch trains to backtrack to Kosei and was late to school that morning.

  
\----------

  
The dream he'd had the night before, combined with the messages Ryuji had left for him after he'd fallen asleep, left Yusuke in such a good mood that even his instructor scolding him for avoiding his homework could not alter it. He drifted through his classes without taking in more than a word or two here and there. It was all just background noise.

  
Again and again, he read over the old messages, trying to puzzle them out, until he realized that it was on him to reply. He had sent a perfunctory response to Akira but Ryuji would still be waiting to hear from him.

  
He'd sailed through half of the day without much to distract him from his preoccupied thoughts, though his body was beginning to send him signals that were becoming harder and harder to ignore. He hadn't eaten for close to a day, after all. He finally gave in and purchased a meal over the lunch break, picking at it with his chopsticks in one hand as he painstakingly tapped at his phone with the other.

  
YUSUKE: Hello.  
YUSUKE: It's a shame I missed your messages last night.

  
He agonized over his choice of words and finally added one more message.

  
YUSUKE: Were those last few intended for me, or did you send them in error?

  
He quailed. Conveying tone through text was impossible. There was no way Ryuji would interpret what he'd just sent as anything but angry, or, at the very least, accusatory. And he'd sent it as soon as he'd typed it, too. His mind raced for a solution until his eyes settled upon Ryuji's last messages to him. Aha.

  
YUSUKE: :)

  
Crisis averted. He set his phone aside and gave his food his full attention. He was hungrier than he'd thought.

  
RYUJI: lol  
RYUJI: hey man  
RYUJI: wonder what put you in such a good mood today? hehe

  
He'd hoped for much more time than this to form a plan of attack, but having a conversation with Ryuji in real time was admittedly appealing in its own right.

  
RYUJI: course they were for you  
RYUJI: so like. you ain't mad at me then?

  
That only led to more questions.

  
YUSUKE: Why would I be angry with you?  
YUSUKE: If anything, I am pleased. Your help was invaluable yesterday.

  
Yusuke paused, chopsticks in the air, as he remembered their desecration of the statue once more and smiled with satisfaction. Their project couldn't have gone more perfectly.

  
RYUJI: uh  
RYUJI: cool?  
RYUJI: does that mean you liked it then?  
YUSUKE: I am finding it difficult to think of much else, today.  
RYUJI: fuck yeah  
RYUJI: me too  
RYUJI: shit that was hot  
RYUJI: i didn't think things would go that way  
RYUJI: with you of all people, I mean  
RYUJI: Mr. I Do Not Engage In That lol

  
Ryuji was difficult to follow at times. He was about to ask for clarification but Ryuji sent more messages before he could.

  
RYUJI: i'm runnin out of time tho  
RYUJI: are we gonna meet up today like usual?  
YUSUKE: I would like that.  
RYUJI: i'm havin a good day today too  
RYUJI: i'm not gonna run away this time. you better be ready ;)

  
He was left confused by Ryuji's messages, as he so often was. But even through text, Ryuji was more adept at conveying how he felt than he was. At the very least, it was clear that Ryuji was looking forward to spending time with him.

  
He finished his meal and spent the rest of his lunch break reminiscing about their art project and the dream he'd had the night before in equal parts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Yusuke and his texting anxiety lol


	15. Subversion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was illustrated beautifully by @hydrangeatattoo (NSFW) - https://twitter.com/hydrangeatattoo/status/1023760202192093184
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful fanart, I love it!

It was hard to keep a straight face in class. He kept grinning.

  
That weird silent treatment from Yusuke had freaked him out last night, but he seemed fine today. Way friendlier than usual, actually, and the relief of it kept hitting him every time he remembered what Yusuke's messages had sounded like.

  
It wasn't just last night. Yusuke wasn't pissed at him, and he wasn't afraid to talk about what had happened, either.

  
Yusuke liked him.

  
Ryuji buried his face in his forearms, folded on top of his desk, and closed his eyes.

  
\----------

  
Yusuke's face looked different, too.

  
Ryuji got up close to him on the roof of the museum, before they hopped in through the skylight. "Heh. You look happy." Yusuke must've been looking forward to this all day, just like him.

  
"I do?"

  
"Yeah, you're smilin' for once." He turned to face him in the dark hall below the skylight and they both just stood there for a minute without saying a word, matching each other. Smiling away.

  
Yusuke finally turned away as if embarrassed. A rare thing for him. Or maybe his face just didn't know how to show it most of the time until now. "I suppose I am in a good mood, as you said." He started walking again like he was in a hurry, and Ryuji trailed after him. "Not that I should be. My instructors are displeased with me. I have not been completing my assignments."

  
Yusuke was so hardcore into his art shit that that was sort of a compliment. "Guess I been keepin' you busy, huh."

  
"I have been neglecting my work, but - " And then Yusuke did this thing, this nervous hand through his hair thing, as he glanced over at him and looked away again just as quick. Ryuji grinned. It was cute. "It's my responsibility."

  
"My teachers don't bother. Won't even talk to me anymore." That came out sounding sort of pathetic. "Whatever. Who cares." Now he sounded like he was trying too hard. Ugh. His stomach was all over the place, too. He tried to cover it up by lengthening his stride and whistling a bit, like he didn't have a care in the world.

  
Yusuke stopped at the same blue and yellow couches, back to back, that they'd sat on yesterday. But this time he sat down and looked up at him expectantly, like he was waiting for him.

  
Instead of taking the opposite couch, Ryuji sat down next to him, a foot or so away, but apparently that was too close. Yusuke slid further down to give him more than enough room.

  
After how Yusuke'd acted last night, it was sort of weird. He'd thought that the way they'd been all over each other would have gotten all this awkward shit out of the way, but maybe it took more than that. They hadn't exactly done a lot of talking. Yusuke, especially.

  
But Yusuke took off his mask, at least. For some reason that helped. Ryuji scrabbled his own off and tossed it to the floor, relieved.

  
Yusuke wasn't going to do it, so it was on him to start. "I, uh. I never thought you'd be like that. The way you were yesterday." He laughed. "Fuck, it's been - what, two days, right? Since you started?"

  
"Since I started... ?"

  
"Since - since you started doin' _anything._ 'N then you're all over me like - like you're makin' up for lost time." Maybe that was exactly it.

  
Yusuke didn't seem to think it was funny, though. He was opening and closing his mouth and staring straight ahead, like he didn't know what to say.

  
It was probably a lot to figure out. Yusuke needed some time, maybe. His tail thing was sitting between them on the couch, so Ryuji tugged off his gloves and started playing with it, trying to give Yusuke a break.

  
Yusuke was being real quiet, though. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, man." He sank his fingers into the fur and fluffed it up to see how big he could make it. "I said it was hot, remember?"

  
Finally Yusuke spoke up. "I don't understand why you would assume they're connected."

  
"What? I just meant, like. It was fast. All of a sudden. I didn't even think that you - you know. Liked me, or whatever."

  
Shit. Yusuke wasn't exactly tripping over himself to back up what he'd just said. He just had a little line between his eyebrows, like he was confused but was trying to figure out how to be polite about it. The silence stretched out, and Yusuke let it.

  
"Oh." The fuckup strikes again. "Uh. Forget it, then."

  
Yusuke sounded cautious. "But I thought my touch would be unwelcome."

  
A little pop of hope inside him. Maybe he hadn't gotten it wrong, then. "Yeah, I was - sorry. I was all fucked up last night. You know. Same old shit."

  
"Last night?" The line between his eyebrows went away. "Do you mean that you sent those messages to me because you were... ?"

  
He wasn't exactly proud of those messages. "Yeah, I was hopin' for some company. Joker was - well, never mind. Don't matter." He smiled at Yusuke. It felt shaky and ugly at first but he kept it up, and it started to feel better all on its own. "Thanks for comin' out, last night. I just wanted to talk or whatever. I wasn't expectin' anythin' like _that."_

  
The line was back. "Skull, I don't understand. I fell asleep early last night. Almost immediately after we parted ways."

  
Uh, what? "Yeah, but then you got up again, right? You never answered my messages, but you came down out of the museum, after I got there, 'n then - "

  
A slow shake of his head.

  
He desperately wished for the deadpan face to come back. Yusuke looking at him like he'd lost his fucking mind was too terrible. He started attacking the tail between them again to give himself something else to look at. "You - you're just gonna pretend we never did?" The sound of his own voice made him clench both fists in the fur of the tail, but he kept going. "You're really gonna pretend you never got me - got me up against the wall, 'n - "

  
It was Ann all over again. Ann was ashamed that he'd been her first experience, her first _kiss,_ even, and now Yusuke was ashamed of him too. He swallowed, hard, and focused on stripping the red ribbons off of the tail until it was down to just the plain white fur.

  
"The... wall?"

  
That wasn't Yusuke denying it had ever happened, at least. "Y-yeah, you were - you were bein' real quiet, but you kept - " He couldn't think of a good way to describe what Yusuke'd been doing to him. All he was left with now were memories of the sensations. "You seriously _forgot?_ You grabbed at me, but I wasn't doin' too hot, last night, so I - I unzipped you, instead, right - "

  
Maybe this bullshit really could make you hallucinate.

  
Maybe it had all just been in his head.

  
But that was recognition on Yusuke's face. It had to be. "That's impossible."

  
"Why the fuck would it be _impossible - "_

  
Back to deadpan, but for once it was a relief. "I dreamt of you last night."

  
Uh. Okay. "That's... nice, I guess."

  
"In my dream, you paid me a visit late at night. We met outside the Palace, in the parking lot. We - you and I were - " Yusuke didn't seem to be able to put it into words any better than he could. "But you pushed me away."

  
It was too weird. His brain couldn't grasp it, but it kept on trying, like a bike's chain slipping gears. "You - you weren't _asleep,_ your eyes were open - "

  
Maybe Yusuke'd figured it out. His voice went extra deep. "From where did you activate the Nav?" he demanded.

  
"From - from the wall of the shack this time, like - I guess I was leanin' on it, and I hit the Nav right there, instead of across the street - "

  
A sharp nod. "I had no idea such a thing could occur, but - but there is simply no other explanation. The Nav drew me in because of my proximity. You encountered my self, separate from my sleeping body inside. My dreaming self."

  
That didn't even make _sense,_ but - it was worse. It was so much worse than Yusuke trying to pretend it hadn't happened. "F-fuck, I - Fox, I'm sorry - "

  
But Yusuke looked _happy._ Ryuji kept thinking he was closer to figuring him out, but who fucking knew with him. "Don't apologize. This means - " A single laugh, his mouth still closed. A satisfied sort of hum. "I _chose_ that. I chose, inside the dream and outside of it. It's - it's what I wanted."

  
Yusuke smiling right in front of him didn't change what had happened last night.

  
He'd gotten on the train all fucked up, scared to imagine what the other passengers would think if he was discovered the way he was. They'd think he was a threat. They'd think he was a fucking sex offender. And then he - he'd yanked Yusuke right out of the real world and into the Metaverse, and -

  
If Yusuke'd been asleep the whole time, he might as well have broken into his house and fucking forced himself on him.

  
His face must have shown some of what he was thinking. Yusuke'd gotten close, really close, all of a sudden, and grabbed his arm with both hands. "I _chose._ Skull, I have lucid dreams. In this dream and one other, I dreamt of you, and - and I changed the outcome." Yusuke looked sort of peaceful, now. Serene. "You did not take from me."

  
He blinked, hard, trying to clear away the tears before he embarrassed himself that way, too. "You had another dream about me? Before?"

  
Yusuke nodded.

  
He hated his voice. It gave everything away. "Was it a nice dream?"

  
Another nod. "It was what inspired me to - to start."

  
Just like that, the tension was gone. Yusuke'd done it and he didn't even know it. Ryuji started to laugh like a crazy person, but it felt too good to stop. "Aw, I - I _inspire_ you? Am I your fuckin' jerkoff muse? Shit, man - "

  
Yusuke had that offended face that he liked so much. He could just see Yusuke getting ready to tell him off. He headed him off before he could get going and stood up just long enough to face Yusuke and hop on his lap, slamming into him in a rough hug hard enough to make his teeth click.

  
He'd knocked the words right out of him. Yusuke was speechless.

  
He was straddling him, his knees on either side of his thighs, but who gave a fuck. The museum staff weren't going to say anything.

  
Like this, he got to be close, close enough that he could hang his head over Yusuke's shoulder and listen to him breathe. Still speechless, but that was okay. And, like this, Yusuke couldn't see his face. The silence felt better now.

  
Yusuke slowly lifted his hands and rested them on his hips.

  
He'd never been able to put up with silence for long, though. It got to him like an itch. "So you really weren't pissed at me? Last night?" he muttered into Yusuke's collar.

  
"Why do you keep asking me that? Did my face give you that impression?"

  
Actually, Yusuke's face had given him the impression that he was half a step away from railing him right there, up against the wall of the museum, but he decided that letting him know that might take the conversation in the wrong direction. "No, you looked like you were havin' a good time," he said carefully. "But I kept askin' you questions and you wouldn't say a word. Freaked me out."

  
"Ah. Then that settles it. That should prove to you that I was dreaming."

  
What? "You go mute in your dreams or somethin'?"

  
Yusuke started playing his fingers over the folds of his suit, where it bunched up at his hips. "Of course. You do not?" Now he tucked both hands beneath the ammo belts, and that was enough. It didn't matter that nothing was touching it, and it didn't matter that they were just talking about other shit. His dick liked what Yusuke's hands were doing. They were just on his hips, but that was enough.

  
"Nope. Don't think so." And that brought them back around to it again. "If you can't even fuckin' talk then I don't see how - how you can say _yes,_ man." God. What a fucking mess. "I never meant to - "

  
Yusuke squeezed him there, just for a second, like he was shutting him up. It worked, too. "Enough." His fingers started moving again, just little back and forth motions up and down his hips, under his belts, and he probably didn't mean anything by it. He probably didn't even realize he was doing it. But it was close enough to the way he'd skimmed his gloves up and over Ryuji's suit last night to make him respond. He hissed between his teeth and shifted in place as his cock strained against the tight material, made tighter by the way he was sitting. It was way too familiar a feeling.

  
Yusuke went on, his voice a little softer. "Perhaps I could have spoken, if I'd thought to try. I have always been silent in my dreams. I'm used to keeping my thoughts to myself, I suppose."

  
"You - you don't gotta be like that with me." It was hard to say such a simple thing, but he scrunched up his face, still hanging over Yusuke's shoulder, and made himself do it. "I, uh. I like talkin' to you. You can tell me whatever you want."

  
That funny laugh of his again. A quiet, pleased 'hm, hm' with his mouth closed. "I do as well. I'd say we're past that point, though, wouldn't you?" And now his hands were moving again - moving closer together, moving lower, until he really was just outright fucking groping his ass. Like it was the most natural thing in the world, not even worth commenting on. "You know," he said. "You _have_ become my muse, after a fashion."

  
He grinned. He liked this topic a lot more. "Yeah? If bein' a muse just means I give you sexy dreams, I think I - "

  
Yusuke cut him off with a spasm of both hands - a quick, extra hard grab - and that fed up noise that he seemed to make more often around him than anyone else. "I was _referring_ to our project at the statue."

  
He'd barely had a chance to think about that, what they'd done at the statue, since meeting up with Yusuke last night had brought some things into a new light. Now he was even less sure of how to make it make sense. "Hey, Fox. I gotta ask."

  
"Mm?"

  
"The statue thing. Holdin' me up while I get off. Was that - _was_ that seriously art? An art... thing? Or was it just... "

  
"Of course it - " Yusuke started out sounding pissed. Like he was going to put him in his place again. But he stopped himself. The silence said more than he did.

  
"I fuckin' _knew_ it."

  
Yusuke was all defensive now. Caught off guard for once. Ryuji enjoyed it while it lasted. "I - it began that way. Believe me when I say that I only had the best of... "

  
Ryuji sighed happily and wriggled against him. His face against his slick suit, his chest to his, his knees on either side of his hips. He shut his eyes and felt more comfortable perched on top of him than he had for a long, long time. Yusuke was still going, figuring it out as he went, so Ryuji just left his ear pressed to him, hearing and feeling Yusuke's words vibrate in his chest.

  
"I suppose it's different, now. It did begin as an art project, and only an art project. It communicates the moment when shame transmutes to pride. Discomfort to comfort. It is about choice. Defiance. But now, it's... " Yusuke moved his gloves over the slippery material, still thinking. Now it was more like he was petting a cat than grabbing his ass. "I have to admit that it's difficult to separate myself from it, now. The - the way I feel."

  
Ryuji decided to let him off the hook. He finally lifted his head and leaned back far enough to give him a big grin. "S'okay. I liked it. In the end, anyway."

  
Yusuke'd started to look all stressed out, like he was worried about what he thought of him. Now his face smoothed out and returned to deadpan, but that was okay. He'd already made a lot more faces than he usually did. Maybe he'd used up his face quota for the day.

  
Pressed together like this, with Yusuke's hands wandering, Ryuji was starting to get ideas. Apparently there was one more thing to clear up, though. "Are you having a good day today?" Yusuke asked, solemn.

  
It was weird to hear his words come out of Yusuke's mouth. But he got what he meant. There didn't seem to be a better way to put it than that. "Yeah, man. I am."

  
Yusuke was never the way he expected him to be. Time after time, he surprised him. Now Yusuke was looking him in the eye as he slowly stripped his blue gloves off. The look he was giving him was starting to go from deadpan into scary-intense territory.

  
He leaned back to give Yusuke room to do it, trying to figure him out. "You, uh. You got plans for me?"

  
"You might say that." Yusuke tipped his head to the side and studied his face, staring him down. Without warning he settled one hand on Ryuji's hip and the other on his junk, just lightly.

  
He sighed again and let his eyes close. It was the statue, but without the stupid fucking cringing over nothing. It was the wall last night, but Yusuke was talking to him, this time. And his idiot brain had been quiet for the entire day. Without all the bullshit clouding things it was like he could actually see what was going on. What was really going on.

  
It was just comfortable.

  
He hadn't lied. He was having a good day.

  
Yusuke stroked him with his thumb and fingertips, being gentle, until he was all the way hard. Yusuke kept fussing with the folds of his suit, too, tugging it this way and that and pulling it flat against his cock until Ryuji realized what he was doing.

  
He grinned. "You just gonna admire it?"

  
"It's fascinating how the material can either hide or emphasize its shape, depending upon how the folds lay - " he protested.

  
Art shit, just like he'd thought. Ryuji angled his hips back, taking his cock away and waddling off of him until he stood upright in front of the couch, out of reach. "If you're just gonna tease me, you lose your dick privileges."

  
The scowl Yusuke gave him made him just throw back his head and laugh.

  
But he'd jerked off enough to last him for years to come, he figured. Meanwhile, he had Yusuke all laid out in front of him, and Yusuke'd barely gotten his feet wet as far as that shit was concerned. "Can I try somethin'?"

  
Back to deadpan. Silence, too. But that wasn't a no.

  
Ryuji knelt on the floor - thanks, kneepads, knew you were good for something - and got nice and close between Yusuke's legs. He stretched out his arms until he was sort of hugging Yusuke around the waist, then looked up at him expectantly.

  
More deadpan, more silence.

  
Poor guy had some real gaps in his education. "Can I give you head?"

  
Yusuke still didn't get it until he wet his lips. _"Oh."_ He chose to take that as a yes.

  
At least he knew Yusuke wasn't dreaming this time.

  
Yusuke had to get his own zipper started, but he took it away from him halfway down and handled it himself, moving Yusuke's sash thing out of the way and enjoying how he was revealed an inch at a time. He could see him a lot better today. Yusuke had a little more tone than he'd expected without being the slightest bit bulky. Not a scrap to spare on him.

  
Ryuji laid one palm on his belly, smiling as his muscles jumped beneath his hand, and used the other hand to carefully get the zipper the rest of the way down.

  
Yusuke was just as hard as he was. It really was okay. He felt his shoulders relax a notch.

  
Ryuji pulled him out of the underwear his Metaverse suit gave him. Just something plain and black, but he was still sort of envious.

  
He played with it, and it felt right in his hand. Last night had been the first time for him - the first time with a dude, anyway - but it had been pitch black outside. He'd felt sort of pitch black on the inside, too, to be honest. Now he could take his time and see what he was doing.

  
This was his first time with a dude, but this was Yusuke's first time doing anything with anyone, period, he figured. His first time awake, at least. Ryuji wanted his first time to be nice, like his had been.

  
Yusuke looked pretty anxious, though.

  
"I like yours," he said, trying to reassure him. "You're good." He squeezed him tight at the base until his cock stood tall, then let just the tip of the head between his lips.

  
He'd never seen Yusuke's eyes get this big.

  
It felt weird, having this thing in his mouth, but not bad. A little salty and bitter until he licked it away, and then it was just warm and solid on his tongue. He got the head of Yusuke's cock good and wet with his lips, then caressed it with his tongue, feeling out all the little edges and smooth parts until he got to the slit at the tip and tongued it carefully.

  
Yusuke knocked both knees into his ribs and threw his head to the side, eyes shut tight.

  
Heh. "You like that, huh?" Saying it out loud made him realize how much _he_ liked it, too, and he took the time to adjust himself through his suit with his free hand. He was all sticky with precum and trapped in place, but it wasn't like he could just unzip and let it out like Yusuke could. Yusuke didn't look like he was in any kind of shape to answer, so he got to it.

  
He'd only just gotten the head between his lips before he felt Yusuke press his knees into his sides again, and this time Yusuke leaned forward, too, taking his cock away. "Wait."

  
"Huh?"

  
Yusuke looked scared.

  
"Skull, is this... "

  
Ryuji slowly got to his feet, sat on the couch beside him and carefully put his arm around him. Just as slowly, just as carefully, Yusuke leaned into it until they sat hip to hip, him still spitty and hard and out in the air and Ryuji in more or less the same state, just inside his suit instead of outside it.

  
Yusuke'd only been at this for like two days. He kept forgetting. "You okay?"

  
"I don't want to - I do want to, but - "

  
He scuffed his boots against the floor a little, giving Yusuke time.

  
Yusuke sighed and looked away. "This is disrespectful."

  
He let out a sharp laugh before he could lock it away. He couldn't begin to predict what would come out of Yusuke's mouth at the best of times. "Uh, what?"

  
"Your - your body. Your face. I do not want to - to - "

  
"I fuckin' _offered,_ man."

  
"Even so, I feel... "

  
He remembered what Yusuke had just said about the weird fucking thing they'd done at the statue. Something about shame. And a couple days ago, when he'd been talking about how he didn't 'engage in that', he'd said something else. Something about how much he hated not having a choice.

  
"Aw. Fox. C'mere." He shifted against him, putting his arm around his waist this time and pulling him closer and closer until Yusuke had to put his own arm around his shoulders. Yusuke just let himself be moved, stiff and awkward but giving in in the end. "You think I don't like it?"

  
"W-why on earth would you like - what we just did?"

  
"What, me sucking your dick?"

  
Yusuke's whole body stiffened even more beside him. "How can you be so _vulgar_ when we are - while we are so close - "

  
"God, you're so fuckin' prissy." He laughed. "Where was all this last night? When you were rubbin' up on me?"

  
"That was a _dream - "_

  
"Yeah? 'n you chose it, right? You chose to be all over me like that."

  
Had him there. Yusuke huffed and said nothing.

  
"So just... choose it this time." Maybe that still wasn't the whole thing yet. The whole issue. He squeezed his side, or tried to. Yusuke had no give to him. "I liked your cock in my mouth."

  
Yusuke still tensed up next to him, but less than last time. "How could you possibly... ?"

  
"Dunno. I like it cuz - I just like it. I like that _you_ like it." He turned to face him with a grin on his face, but the way Yusuke was looking made him stop real quick. "Uh, did you?" Maybe he'd done it wrong.

  
Yusuke usually had this milky white complexion, pale and pretty, for a guy. Right now he was just solid pink, though, from his eyes all the way down to his collarbones, and he was staring at the floor.

  
It was shitty to make fun of him. He felt bad for laughing. "Aw, Fox," he said again, keeping his voice low. "You got it rough, huh? You can't even say if you liked it?"

  
Worse than that. Yusuke couldn't answer at all. He took his arm back, too, so Ryuji did the same and they sat there like a couple of lumps on the couch, still pressed in close but silent.

  
He didn't get this at all. He was the one who kept getting hard over the shit you weren't supposed to. Yusuke feeling this way over getting like thirty seconds of oral left him baffled.

  
He had a couple theories, though. "You, uh. You don't like that you're gay, or whatever? That's pretty old fashioned."

  
Yusuke still just kept burning holes in the floor with his eyes.

  
"Me, then? Probly not your first pick."

  
That got an answer at least. "Skull. This is not about - "

  
"Then what?"

  
More silence. It felt fucking weird. Yusuke _always_ had shit to say. He always had an art sermon or a wordy way to insult him ready for any occasion. The silence chipped away at him until he couldn't stand it anymore.

  
"Fox, this place is perfect. You think somebody's gonna walk in on us or somethin'?"

  
They both turned their heads to watch the nearest museum guard shuffle by, just a tall black hulk in the gloom. When you saw them every day they got to be like the crowds in Shibuya, easily ignored. Wallpaper.

  
He knocked Yusuke's knee with his, trying to cheer him up. "Or, what - you think that guy over there's gonna mind? That it?" he teased. "Maybe he's into it."

  
Finally. Yusuke let him see his face again. Still all embarrassed, but his voice came out steady enough. "I suppose this is hardly the appropriate space for this activity."

  
He'd just said it _was,_ though. Maybe Yusuke'd been too inside his head to hear it. He opened his mouth to repeat himself, but Yusuke cut him off. Rude like always.

  
"It would be quite a shock to the visitors if they saw something like this." And then Yusuke lifted his hand and laid it on his leg, down by his kneepad.

  
Oh.

  
"Uh, no, not really. This, though, maybe." He hovered his hand out, slow, and they both just looked at it as it settled on Yusuke's half hard cock.

  
Not a peep.

  
Why was it fine _now?_ He got Yusuke up again, smooth and warm and undeniably nice in his hand, and risked it all by opening his mouth. He couldn't help it. "How the fuck d'you got a, a public sex kink, or whatever, if you never even... "

  
He watched a thought flit across Yusuke's face, clear as day, before he switched tracks. Like he'd puffed himself up to get mad and then buried it. Instead Yusuke opened his mouth, shut it again, and just squeezed his leg for a second before he kept going, completely ignoring what he'd just said. "I do not wish to disrespect you. Your body. But perhaps our mere _presence_ serves to - to - "

  
He could play along. If that was what Yusuke needed. "To make the museum gross?"

  
The air whooshing out of Yusuke's lungs, and the way he finally scooched down a bit on the couch, comfortable at last, told him he'd been right. Now he looked the way you were supposed to when you were getting a handjob, in Ryuji's humble opinion. "Yes. Imagine them - the visitors - filing in, there - " He nodded at the hallway at the far end of the room. " - expecting to admire works of beauty - ah - "

  
Ryuji savoured that little 'ah' as he kept moving his hand, slow and gentle, even as some half formed thought about how he had a work of beauty sitting right here in front of him zipped from one side of his brain to the other, too fast for him to get a good look at it. Something mushy and embarrassing, anyway. He kept it to himself and tuned Yusuke's art sermon out.

  
The way Yusuke was sitting, sliding down and going limp in stages everywhere except where Ryuji's hand was, put the top of his head just below eyelevel, and those long legs of his were sticking way out from the couch. Now he could see Yusuke's eyes flutter closed, like they had at the wall last night, and his mouth fell open, just enough that he could see his bottom teeth and a little flash of pink tongue.

  
He really was very pretty.

  
The sermon went on, but it was getting hard to follow. " - and through the subversion of their expectations - u-unh - they will finally realize that the - the - the exhibits are - "

  
Ryuji had used his right hand to grab Yusuke's cock, so he awkwardly reached up and across his own chest with his left to find the top of Yusuke's head and pull him close, until Yusuke was leaning against his shoulder with most of his weight. He gave his nice silky hair a pat and said, kindly, "Shut up, Fox."

  
He did.

  
Ryuji grinned as he listened to his breathing change next to him. Yusuke was a lot quieter than he was, when he let himself make noise, anyway, but this close, he could still hear him. Yusuke kept doing this thing with his legs, too, pointing his toes until his heels were off the floor, and Ryuji realized it was so he could get the leverage to sock his hips up against his hand on the downstroke. Yusuke was trying to fuck his hand.

[](https://imgur.com/rHj157k)

  
He leaned down a little, close to where Yusuke's ear was pressed against his suit, and murmured to him. "You think I need help? You critiquin' me? Alright. I can do better." He sped up his hand, and fuck, that _whine_ Yusuke made. That little noise, barely out of his throat. He was going to remember that noise forever.

  
"How's this? You like this? I bet you - " He wasn't even doing that much, and he'd thought he'd be at this for another ten minutes at least, going off of how he was by himself, but Yusuke was already there, already past it. A little hiss between his teeth and suddenly Yusuke was grinding his face into Ryuji's chest, leaning way over into his space, and clutching his arm to make him stop. His cum got some air, even, pattering down onto Ryuji's arm. Against whatever weird shit his suit was made of, it sounded like raindrops on an umbrella.

  
Now he got why Yusuke'd been watching over his shoulder when he'd gotten off at the statue.

  
"That was _awesome."_

  
Yusuke was still recovering, just breathing against his chest.

  
"You're fast, huh?"

  
Pissed Yusuke was back. He straightened up in a hurry, still pink and with his hair all fucked up on one side. "I - "

  
He laughed in his face. Poor Yusuke. "Aw. Maybe you're not. Fast, I mean. I'm comparin' you to me, and, like. You know. I bet I take too long, instead, these days."

  
Pissed Yusuke left again, and he felt a little pang of regret. Now they were back to the way things had been before - a whole lot of fat silence and Yusuke looking anywhere but at his face. He zipped himself up in a hurry, too, like he couldn't stand to be looked at, and then put some distance between them on the couch.

  
"Bet they're gonna have to shut this museum down, now."

  
Yusuke turned to face him, waiting for him to continue.

  
It was hard to figure out what he wanted to hear until he remembered more of the shit from the statue. "Cuz it's so - vulgar. Right? The - the visitors saw us. The customers. 'N now - "

  
The relief was clear on Yusuke's face. "Yes. I suspect this m-museum - " He stumbled over the word, but apparently he was okay with calling it a museum and not a Palace if it was for something like this. " - will have quite the reputation now. The visitors were expecting elegant masterworks. Paintings with delicate brushwork and refined ceramics. Instead they will see _this."_

  
Yusuke grabbed Ryuji's arm and, without warning, used his bare fingers to scoop up all the nasty globby cum he'd just left on his sleeve. He had his art face on, the same calculating sort of face he'd had when he'd been checking out the statue after Ryuji was finished with it, or when he'd been talking about his creepy redlines. He squeegeed off the half cooled cum with his first two fingers, careful to get it all, and then slowly wiped it on the couch cushion beside his leg.

  
_Fuck,_ he was weird. He talked all prissy, all prim and proper, but then he pulled shit like this. Ryuji let out a sharp laugh, loud enough to echo back, and snagged his sash thing. He yanked until Yusuke slid towards him, his ass in his slick suit whispering against the cushions, and once he was within range, Ryuji hooked his arm around his waist and pulled him into a sideways hug. "Feelin' better?"

  
This time, Yusuke leaned into it, for a few seconds, at least, before he straightened up and inched away again. Mr. Personal Space. "Yes." He locked eyes with him, deadpan, but his voice did the heavy lifting instead. He sounded confident and sure. "I enjoyed that," he declared in that deep voice of his, like he was expecting somebody to argue.

  
Ryuji's shoulders relaxed the last little notch. He had his mouth open to say something nice but unimportant when he felt Yusuke's hand on his inner thigh, moving upward. When he looked up, Yusuke was already lifting his katana with his other hand.

  
His mouth was ahead of his brain, and he surprised himself. "Nah, I'm good."

  
"You are _not_ 'good'," Yusuke protested, and now his fingers were petting him, his thumb brushing over the edge of the head and his fingertips giving him these little fleeting touches up and down his length through his smooth, plasticky suit -

  
He got his hand around Yusuke's wrist and put his hand back in his lap.

  
Yusuke had a haughty pout, like he'd been denied something he thought he deserved. Something he'd been looking forward to, maybe, if Ryuji decided to flatter himself. "It seems you are determined to keep things uneven between us."

  
"That ain't it, man."

  
Yusuke just crossed his arms and flapped his hand at him in an annoyed 'spit it out then' gesture.

  
"I just... yesterday I was all fucked up, but today I been havin' a good day."

  
"I see." His expression said the opposite.

  
He remembered the little seed of pride in the centre of his chest from last night, the thing that had carried him all the way home on the train and all the way through his mom's tirade once he'd slunk through the door.

  
Not that he could blame her. He'd said that he was running to the convenience store for snacks and then he'd come back almost two hours later, emptyhanded. He'd just sat through it, mostly silent, not giving her the real reason but also not lying, and he didn't miss the way she got real close to check his pupils. Like he'd gone out to get high in an alley or some shit. She'd checked his breath, too. But he'd stayed strong, and she'd finally let him go to bed.

  
This morning, he'd gotten up early enough to make her coffee and their breakfast _and_ her lunch for work, and he could tell by the way she said goodbye that she'd forgiven him. It wasn't like he made a habit of running off late at night or anything. He could tell she still felt kind of bewildered by the whole thing, and that he was on thin ice now, but things were okay.

  
Saying no to it one whole time probably didn't make _that_ much of a difference. Probably not life changing or whatever. But last night was proof he could do it once, at least. Last night was proof he had willpower, if he tried, and it was proof that he was the one in charge, not the bullshit.

  
He tried to figure out how to get all of that across to Yusuke. "Last night I said _no._ That's fuckin' impossible for me, usually. Even halfway through whatever last night was, with you, I said no, 'n I just - I just wanna see if I can do it again. If I can have a whole... good day." He lost his nerve and turned away. "It kinda feels good to say no," he mumbled.

  
Maybe Yusuke got it now. A bit. "Will you allow me to touch you another time? On a good day?"

  
"Yeah. Promise." The absurdity of what they were talking about got to him and he seized Yusuke's tail again, an excuse to keep his head down for a minute or two until he could make his face do what he wanted it to again. Kept his hands busy, too, until Yusuke took it back.

  
"You have left my beautiful tail in a sorry state."

  
It was true. The ribbons were all over the couch, and he'd managed to make the fur clumpy and ratty. "You _know_ your dorky fuckin' tail will be back to new again next time - "

  
"I was merely observing that our meetings always seem to result in some minor catastrophe. Property damage - " He cut his eyes to the gross dark smear he'd made on the couch with his own fucking jizz. Like it was something inevitable, not something he'd done with his own fingers. " - and ruined costumes." He held up his tail in both hands, but he was looking at Ryuji's crotch, where he would've been out in the air on just about any other visit.

  
"Yeah, well. This place fuckin' deserves it. You wanna wreck it some more? Next time?"

  
Yusuke's eyes lit up like when he was mad, but there was a smile below. One that was half a step towards a sneer, maybe. "Yes. I do."


	16. Focal Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is double length so there may or may not be an update next week. I'll see what I can do.

Yusuke ate his simple meal in blessed silence.

  
RYUJI: he still there?  
YUSUKE: No, thankfully.  
YUSUKE: To be honest I am more at ease when he stays at his mistress's home, of late.  
RYUJI: yeah i get that  
RYUJI: my mom's still pissed. got me grounded  
RYUJI: well, kinda. she gets home way later n me so it don't really work

  
Yusuke set down his chopsticks in order to devote his full attention to typing in a response, but Ryuji was already typing and sending a barrage of new messages in rapid fire fashion.

  
RYUJI: not that it's the same  
RYUJI: i didn't mean that  
RYUJI: my mom's not like madarame or whatever  
RYUJI: shit. sorry man  
RYUJI: just makin conversation i guess  
YUSUKE: I understood what you meant. I know you did not intend to offend me.

  
He chewed slowly and thoroughly as he thought, an old habit to make the meal last as long as possible. He searched his mind for a topic suitable for small talk until his eyes settled upon his easel and canvas, perpetually stranded in a half finished state.

  
He'd barely begun to type when Ryuji steamrolled him once more.

  
RYUJI: feelin okay?  
YUSUKE: Certainly. I have eaten more today than I would usually allow myself, but I will find a way to afford the indulgence.  
YUSUKE: I suppose I felt like celebrating.  
RYUJI: i guess that kinda answers what i wanted to know lol  
RYUJI: maybe not  
RYUJI: you feel weird? about the thing on the couch today?  
RYUJI: after i got home i sorta thought i pushed you. maybe

  
Ever since they had parted ways a few hours before, his thoughts had been occupied with what Ryuji had done to him inside the Palace and little else.

  
The night before had been a dream, but this afternoon, he'd been fully awake.

  
At the time, he'd experienced such intense shame at the sight of Ryuji taking that part of himself into his mouth willingly, _gladly,_ that he couldn't allow it to continue. It was too much. But Ryuji had given him time to adjust, and had even pulled him close to offer comfort in a way that he hadn't experienced in a long, long time.

  
He'd felt shame when Ryuji had touched him there, but Ryuji had been free with his hands. Ryuji had moved them to his sides, his hips, his shoulders. His hair. Everywhere Ryuji had touched him, he had taken the shame from his skin and left him with nothing but warmth, and it had felt so similar to the first dream he'd had of him, when his form had been left indistinct, that he'd had to keep reminding himself that it was really happening.

  
And then they'd continued. Ryuji had helped him to overcome his shame and to deface the Palace once more, too, and just when Yusuke had begun to worry that he'd disgusted him, or had behaved inappropriately - perhaps you were supposed to hold back in situations like this; perhaps it was more proper to enjoy the sensations but avoid giving in to orgasm - Ryuji had reassured him with the promise of another visit to the Palace. Another opportunity to bring the truth of the Palace's loathsome nature to light and to see Ryuji, alone.

  
YUSUKE: I think I will need to adjust to the idea further.  
YUSUKE: But no, you did not push me.  
YUSUKE: I will admit ignorance. Is this a situation in which I should thank you?  
RYUJI: lol  
RYUJI: nope  
RYUJI: actually there is a way you say thanks, kinda. in this situation  
RYUJI: you're supposed to tell me if you liked it  
RYUJI: like. be honest. tell me if you didn't. i'll do better next time

  
He was about to retort that he already had told him what he'd thought: he'd stated in no uncertain terms that he'd enjoyed it in what he'd thought of later as an almost defiant voice, a voice that he hadn't found within himself until very recently. Perhaps Ryuji had forgotten, or perhaps - and he smiled to himself at the thought - Ryuji needed the reassurance. After all, he'd needed to put a stop to his first attempt, and Ryuji might have taken that to mean he was displeased with his efforts.

  
The idea of Ryuji so eagerly tending to him another time was enough to distract him from their chat conversation for several minutes. When he came back to himself, he found his food cold and their conversation in a lull. But Ryuji's icon remained lit, signifying that he was waiting patiently for his answer.

  
YUSUKE: As I said inside the Palace, I enjoyed it.

  
That seemed an underwhelming answer after making Ryuji wait for so long.

  
YUSUKE: It is not an exaggeration to say that until I met you, I could not imagine ever enjoying such an act.  
YUSUKE: The pleasure you exhibited alone inside the Palace was an inspiration, but you yourself have helped me down a new path, one I might not have ever taken were it not for you.  
YUSUKE: I'd hoped to change, and now I am beginning to.  
YUSUKE: Improper though it may be, I am going to thank you all the same.  
RYUJI: aw  
RYUJI: i dunno what to say  
RYUJI: like, i'm happy to help, but  
RYUJI: that might be the prettiest thing about jerkin off that's ever been written lol

  
He twisted his mouth and decided to focus his attention fully on his now cold dinner. This time he left Ryuji waiting as punishment for his vulgarity.

  
He had nearly finished his rice when he received a chat notification, this time from Akira.

  
AKIRA: Sounds cool.

  
Hardly something that merited a response. Akira was merely replying to the description of his painting that he'd sent to him during his morning commute. He immediately switched back to Ryuji's chat window.

  
He was met only with the same vulgar message he'd already seen. A change in topic was in order.

  
He was often accused of being rude, and he didn't doubt that it was true. It was just that, in the past, social niceties and his classmates' opinion of him had each been low on his list of priorities. But after having observed the way the Thieves planned and squabbled and laughed together, their bond clear, it made him wonder if he could begin to change in that way, too.

  
It was a dizzying prospect, but Ryuji had already shown him the way. Ryuji had messaged him to ask how he was feeling, so he decided to emulate him.

  
YUSUKE: Do you feel strange?

  
Upon rereading what he had sent, he suspected that it left a different impression than the similar message Ryuji had sent him. Ryuji took a few minutes to reply.

  
RYUJI: ?  
RYUJI: oh  
RYUJI: no, i'm still havin a good day actually  
RYUJI: thanks

  
Generally Ryuji picked their conversations back up when they flagged, as though a gap in their back and forth was to be avoided at all costs, but he had become slow to respond. Perhaps he was otherwise occupied.

  
Yusuke busied himself with cleaning the kitchen downstairs and, once he caught himself climbing the stairs to hover over his phone and check for messages for the second time, admonished himself for being impatient. He finally seated himself at his easel where the painting for Madarame had glared at him for over a week, incomplete.

  
He was no closer to seeing a way through the roadblock he'd set himself. He was beginning to consider gessoing over the incoherence he'd left upon the canvas and starting afresh when his phone finally received a new message.

  
RYUJI: i'm not  
RYUJI: i'm a fuckin liar  
RYUJI: thought i could do it for one fuckin day. god  
YUSUKE: Then you do feel strange?  
RYUJI: as good a way to put it as anythin else i guess  
RYUJI: yeah. feelin strange lol  
RYUJ: fuck

  
Ryuji had always laughed frequently, from the day they'd met, and though he had found it offputting at first, he'd begun to notice that not all of it was linked to amusement. Some of it seemed to signal discomfort, or that Ryuji was about to make a joke at his own expense.

  
YUSUKE: But I thought you were having a good day today?  
RYUJI: yeah! me too!  
RYUJI: thought i could go a whole fuckin day!  
RYUJI: not like i get any fuckin say in this shit, right?

  
That didn't sound so different from the way he used to feel about a certain subset of his dreams, though Ryuji was left to the whims of his own body while he was wide awake. He struggled to come up with a response when he suddenly remembered what Ryuji had said the other day, before they'd made their assault on the statue - that his problem seemed to be linked to 'sad shit.'

  
YUSUKE: Has something happened to upset you tonight?  
RYUJI: you've heard me swear man, come on  
YUSUKE: You misunderstand. I want to know why you are distressed.  
YUSUKE: I want to know the reason why you are no longer having a good day.  
RYUJI: oh  
RYUJI: you know  
RYUJI: same old shit  
RYUJI: actually i guess it's new shit. newer shit  
RYUJI: akira's talkin to me

  
He began to feel nauseous.

  
YUSUKE: Oh?

  
Ryuji had told him himself, plainly, how he felt for Akira. He had never tried to keep it a secret, once they'd begun spending more time together within the Palace. It was just that Yusuke had forgotten - though he knew that was incorrect the instant it crossed his mind.

  
He hadn't forgotten. He had carefully put it out of his mind because it was inconvenient.

  
He preferred the fantasy that Ryuji cared for him and only him, and so he indulged himself as he always had. Just like his fantasy during his morning train ride, about having a respectable home suitable for company, and just like the fantasy he'd held close to his heart for as long as he could remember - or at least, for as long as he'd been relegating certain suspicions to the back of his mind. It was the fantasy that cast Madarame as the honourable master artist and himself as the humble, devoted pupil who gave his works away freely as a sign of his love and respect for him.

  
Giving was different than being taken from.

  
RYUJI: i wish he'd fuck off  
RYUJI: i can't keep doin this  
RYUJI: i'm gonna say somethin to him i can't take back

  
But Ryuji's tone wasn't what he'd been expecting.

  
YUSUKE: Are you arguing with him? I thought you were infatuated with Akira.  
RYUJI: fuckin wish we were fighting  
RYUJI: him and his fuckin ;) and whatever  
RYUJI: does he talk to you? chat?  
YUSUKE: He began to this morning, for the first time. I described my latest piece to him.  
RYUJI: that it?  
YUSUKE: That was the extent of it, yes.  
RYUJI: he keeps askin me over  
RYUJI: asked me again tonight  
RYUJI: there's gonna be a time when i say yes instead of no n then i'm really fucked

  
Each response from Ryuji left him with more questions.

  
YUSUKE: I don't understand.  
YUSUKE: Have your feelings for him changed?  
RYUJI: no  
RYUJI: yes? i don't wanna be like this  
RYUJI: i wanna be done  
RYUJI: sometimes i think he knows everything and he's just fuckin with me somehow  
RYUJI: like if i finally say somethin i can't take back, that i want him to fuck me or somethin, he'll just laugh. tell ann n the fuckin cat all about it  
RYUJI: kick my ass out

  
His stomach clenched tight as he read those last two messages. Then he carefully ignored them and focused on the overall message of what Ryuji had said.

  
Akira had shown him nothing but kindness in the brief time he'd known him, but it was possible that there was a side to Akira that he had not seen yet.

  
It was also possible that Ryuji was not the most trustworthy source on the matter.

  
YUSUKE: Is he discussing Phantom Thief matters with you?  
RYUJI: no he keeps goin on about how bored he is  
RYUJI: like he's lonely cuz ann's busy or whatever  
YUSUKE: Then it would seem your course of action is clear.  
RYUJI: what?  
YUSUKE: If you cannot trust your own words when you speak to Akira, then you should not speak to Akira.

  
Ryuji had given him his time, several afternoons' worth, and had lent him his body to deface the statue. Ryuji had been patient with him and had shown him care. And Ryuji had tolerated his eccentricities. He'd mocked him, and he'd shown irritation, too, but he'd also returned, time and time again.

  
An image leapt to mind, fully formed. A memory of standing in front of Madarame's portrait of him with his katana raised, poised to make his incision, and Ryuji a few feet behind him with an adhesive bandage held between his outstretched fingers, prepared to give first aid as best he could with their laughable supplies.

  
Perhaps a fantasy could be useful. Perhaps the fantasy that he'd maintained for years at a time with Madarame, the one in which he'd given himself away freely, could be repurposed here.

  
It was possible that the way Ryuji treated him was merely out of friendship. It might not mean what he'd assumed. But if Ryuji cared more for Akira than he did for him, that didn't erase the care Ryuji had already shown him.

  
If Ryuji needed his help, he could give it.

  
RYUJI: yeah like it's so easy  
RYUJI: fuck  
RYUJI: you just don't get it, that's all  
RYUJI: it's worse when i'm at home

  
The real reason behind Ryuji's eagerness to visit the Palace every day had become clear. It was to avoid his problem, and nothing more. He let his eyes fall shut as the realization hit home.

  
He had never been Ryuji's first priority at all.

  
But even that wasn't enough to change his mind. He could still help.

  
YUSUKE: Would a distraction help you stay strong?  
RYUJI: yeah if anythin would WORK  
RYUJI: somethin that needs both hands would be good  
RYUJI: but nothin ever works  
RYUJI: he's still fuckin goin too  
RYUJI: i told him i was busy last time n now he's askin what i'm doin  
RYUJI: like what does he wanna hear? that i'm tryin super hard not to jerk off to his small talk?  
YUSUKE: I have an idea.

  
He dialled Ryuji's number.

  
"You dial me by accident?" Ryuji's voice betrayed him. The top layer of polite surprise, carefully manufactured, could not quite hide the unhappiness that lay beneath it.

  
"No, not at all. I intended to call you."

  
"Uh, okay... ?"

  
Ryuji could be imperceptive at times. Yusuke tried to remain patient with him. "If I am speaking to you, then you will be holding your phone to your ear, correct? And so your chat conversation with Akira will be obscured. I had hoped that it would serve to distract you from touching yourself as well."

  
He had to pull his phone away from his ear for a moment as Ryuji sighed explosively directly into it. _"Oh."_

  
Of course, the only way this strategy could work was if they could maintain a conversation. Ryuji was indisposed, so it fell to him. The first topic that came to mind was one that had occupied his thoughts for most of the day. "I have been having the most interesting dreams of late."

  
"Y-yeah?" He could hear a faint rustling and chose to take it to mean that Ryuji was settling himself more comfortably upon his bed.

  
He did the same, only half conscious of his movements, and rolled out his futon as best he could with one hand. He laid down, still fully clothed as he wracked his brain for ways to elaborate, and remembered that Ryuji had apparently needed more reassurance, despite his earlier comments that he had enjoyed it. "Yes. Although I think I prefer to be awake for that kind of activity, given the choice."

  
Perhaps that wasn't the right thing to say. He realized too late that what he'd said sounded closer to criticism than a comment on the pleasure he'd felt. Another shaky exhale in his ear, then a slight pause before Ryuji responded. He sounded utterly miserable. "'m sorry man. I never woulda thought you were asleep."

  
Despite his best efforts, he was already beginning to lose patience. "Ryuji, for the last time, I _chose."_

  
"How could - " Ryuji began to say, hotly, and then shut his mouth as he gave up on the topic. Yusuke heard it. "Okay, well, I still don't fuckin' get it. You sleepwalk?"

  
They were not at all on the same page. "Of course not. I woke in the room I sleep in, as I always do."

  
"That don't mean you _don't._ Sleepwalk. 'n like. If you don't sleepwalk then _what?_ What the fuck happened?"

  
He heard Ryuji move again and began to doubt his plan's efficacy. "Please don't tell me that you are touching yourself as I try to hold a conversation with you," he snapped.

  
A _tch_ of disgust, right in his ear. "I'm just turnin' the TV on for background noise, man. I don't need my mom hearin' this."

  
He was momentarily stunned at the idea of someone his own age having a personal TV in their bedroom, _in addition_ to the one Ryuji's mother likely used elsewhere in their home. Ryuji's bedroom was lavishly furnished indeed, compared to the room he slept in.

  
He brought himself to task again as he listened to the low mumble of the TV in the background. "You simply encountered my sleeping self, separate from my body. I'm sure the Metaverse can initiate any number of metaphysical oddities."

  
"You're talkin' like this all makes sense but it _don't,_ like - you were't a _ghost_ or some shit. You had a _body._ You, uh, definitely had a body," he added, and Yusuke thought he could hear a grin in his voice.

  
He told himself that he could put up with a few off colour comments if it meant Ryuji was on his way to feeling better. "Perhaps the Metaverse granted me a body, or a copy of my body, in the same way that it grants us our outfits. My Fox suit, or your Skull suit."

  
"That's just - that's just one thing to another. Not somethin' out of nothin'. Our Metaverse suits are just our clothes, but different," Ryuji argued.

  
"Hm. I suppose the only way to test that theory would be to enter the Metaverse nude."

  
"Yeah? Strip down n' hit the Nav. Tell me what you find out." Now he was certain that Ryuji was grinning.

  
"You sound as though you are back to your old self again," Yusuke said, dryly. "I suppose I will leave you be."

  
"Don't pout. I'll talk. If you want."

  
"Is this helping with your problem whatsoever? Because it seems to me that your thoughts are still occupied with what you are trying to avoid."

  
"Sorry," Ryuji mumbled.

  
A short but uncomfortable silence fell.

  
Ryuji spoke up again just as Yusuke was wondering whether to hang up on him after all. He lowered his voice to avoid being overheard. "I guess I just default to that. It's easier. We already - like, we already _got_ to that point. We got that in common. If we talk about that shit, sex stuff, it ain't stressful like other shit is." Yusuke opened his mouth and inhaled to speak, but Ryuji had already continued."Except this part _is._ This wall thing? I just don't get it."

  
"I have only been guessing at the reason myself. I suppose I don't find it stressful because the sensations were so clear to me. There was no ambiguity _there,_ at least."

  
"I mean, they were clear to me too, man. It was _real,_ for me."

  
He barely managed to keep his assertions that it was quite real for him as well, thank you very much, to himself. "For my part, the choice and the removal of shame were what I remember most clearly. The _opposite_ of shame. You let me choose. You did not coerce me."

  
"Of course I'm not gonna fuckin' - " He abruptly switched to a whisper, his words coming out in a furious hiss. _" - coerce_ you! Fuck, man. You think I'm like that?" There was real hurt in Ryuji's voice.

  
It was so easy to misstep. He had never thought to regret the way his life had gone, growing up in the shack, until he had met the Thieves. Now, more and more frequently, he wished for a different life. Some other series of events that might have led him to this point with a new set of skills. Less time spent alone, painting, and more time spent trying to understand people.

  
"I merely meant that - that you gave me time. Just as you did on the couch within the Palace today."

  
Luckily Ryuji seemed to take his meaning this time. His voice lost its tightly wound quality. "That was definitely you this afternoon, right? On the couch?"

  
Now he was being ludicrous. Yusuke allowed his voice to show his disdain for such a foolish line of thinking. "Did you have your eyes open when we met in the parking lot today? Or did you simply forget in the hours since then?" he scoffed.

  
"Don't be shitty about it. You _know_ the wall thing don't make any fuckin' sense."

  
He felt this subject was well trodden already and spun out possibilities, one after another, in hopes that Ryuji would accept one and move onto something more interesting. "Perhaps the Metaverse manifested my body and suit to pair with my sleeping consciousness that you pulled in with the Nav, as I suggested. Perhaps my dream, made solid by the Metaverse, pulled _you_ in, and we experienced it together, each of us unconscious. Perhaps the Metaverse linked my sleeping consciousness with the body of a nearby Shadow, within the Palace. That is where my dream began, after all. And in my first dream, you did have an appearance closer to a Shadow's than your usual Metaverse self. Or perhaps the fact that I spend each night sleeping and dreaming within the physical structure linked to a Palace means that - "

  
"Stop. Stop, stop. Stop," Ryuji stammered. "I - _what?_ Which of those d'you think is true?"

  
Yusuke shrugged, flat on his back on the floor, and waited for a moment before realizing that Ryuji would not have been able to see it. "Does it matter?"

  
_"Course it fucking matters - "_ Ryuji's voice broke. He seemed to think his voice had become too loud and spoke more quietly again. "Like - in your first dream I was a goddamn _Shadow?"_

  
"In some ways you were like a Shadow, and in some ways you were not," Yusuke mused. "Your height and build were your own. Your body language was certainly yours - it was what allowed me to recognize you. But your form was only a dark shape. You were left indistinct. It's not uncommon for my dreams of that nature to... " The fact that he was discussing something like this out _loud,_ in detail, even in an empty house and even with someone with whom he'd already spent an interesting afternoon, finally caught up to him and he was unable to finish for embarrassment.

  
It brought him out of their conversation entirely, and he realized that he'd been lying on his back and staring directly up at the ceiling light all this time. He stood to switch it off, then laid back down in darkness but for the screen of his phone.

  
"Aw, Fox - _Yusuke,_ I mean, fuck - you know I never came at night before - before the wall, right? Before last night? I never did. You believe me, right?" Ryuji had begun to plead with him, and he did not understand why until it came to him a moment later.

  
Even after all of his assertions to the contrary, Ryuji still thought he had taken from him.

  
His anger at not being believed - his anger at being told he did not know the difference between choosing and being coerced, his anger at having to repeat himself over and over and ultimately being _ignored_ \- bottlenecked within him and he was unable to get a single word out.

  
But it was a blessing in the end.

  
His roiling thoughts cleared and suddenly, with a dull thudding sensation, as though the truth had literally struck him, he remembered Ryuji's confession to him within the Palace, when they had sat on the couches and talked, and only talked, a few days before. Just before they had had their race and then continued on to the statue.

  
He remembered Ryuji's muffled voice as he hid his face and described the nature of his problem, likening himself to a sex offender. The way he would feel if he were discovered in an inappropriate state in Leblanc, or on the train.

  
He finally understood. "I know you did not. I believe you, Ryuji."

  
It was shame. Little wonder that Ryuji had been the one to help him complete his project at the statue to perfection. Of course they had begun to spend time together each day despite being different in every other possible way.

  
He began to laugh.

  
"What?" Ryuji did not sound angry. Only bewildered.

  
He'd stopped laughing as soon as he'd begun, but he knew he still wore a smile. "We are so similar!"

  
"That supposed to be a compliment?"

  
"If you wish it to be."

  
"No, seriously. What?" he repeated.

  
Yusuke smiled alone in his darkened room, his phone held to his ear in his cramping hand. "Shame still holds me back, but I - I am beginning to overcome it, slowly. And the shame of your problem plagues you as well, correct? But you are beginning to overcome your problem, too."

  
Another sigh in his ear. "That's - that's nice of you to say. But it ain't true."

  
"How so?"

  
A pause, and then Ryuji said something that he didn't find terribly surprising, given the circumstances. "I been tryin' not to, but I. Ugh. I sorta kept grabbin' myself n' stoppin. Just now. I didn't want to. But I did."

  
"Did you... ?" He knew he disliked Ryuji's terminology, but he also had nothing to replace it with, so he was left with insinuations.

  
"No," Ryuji said quickly. "I stopped. Haven't since - since we were talkin' about all the different ways the thing at the wall coulda happened."

  
"Then you are beginning to overcome it."

  
"It ain't like that. I still got this stupid fuckin' _crush."_ His voice dripped with loathing, and Yusuke's eyes widened. But the loathing he heard in Ryuji's voice wasn't directed at him. "Or whatever the fuck it is. I got this feelin' little kids don't get like this when - when they got a crush."

  
"Your problems are intertwined, then."

  
"Inter- ? Yeah, I guess. But I had this other thing years back, off 'n on. It ain't Akira. It ain't _just_ Akira."

  
He was suddenly very tired of hearing Akira's name from Ryuji's lips.

  
Throughout their conversation, an ugliness had been mounting inside of him like a thunderhead, something that he'd thought he'd left behind in his early childhood. It took him a moment to grasp it, but he recognized it for what it was easily enough.

  
It was what he'd felt when Madarame had first begun to accept new pupils into his home. For years it had been only the two of them, and he had allowed himself to become spoiled by Madarame's attention. It was a rude awakening indeed to see him not only accept new pupils but to praise their work, right in front of him.

  
He'd wanted Madrame to praise him and only him, and now that feeling had returned, removed from the man he'd thought of as his father and applied to someone new. Every utterance of Akira's name reminded him of what was out of his grasp, and even as the ugliness built inside, he imagined what could be.

  
He knew it was childish. Selfish, too. But he ached for it. He imagined the sound of his own name from Ryuji's lips, but in the way Ryuji sighed Akira's name. He imagined himself putting the ugliness into words, from his heart to Ryuji's ear.

  
Forget Akira. Forget all else.

  
Think of me, and only me.

  
The words tumbled out before he could halt them. "Why does Akira occupy your thoughts if he upsets you so?" he demanded. "What is so compelling about someone who - who _hurts_ you?"

  
It seemed to be unintentional on Akira's part. Ryuji had never given him any solid evidence of Akira actually purposely being cruel to him. But the result was the same.

  
A gap in which only the sound of Ryuji's breathing and the sussurrus of the TV filled the silence. Then he heard him swallow. "You, um. You don't wanna know."

  
"Your insistence that you know my own wishes better than I do is starting to become truly insulting," he spat.

  
"Uh, did I piss you off? You don't gotta distract me. It's fine. I'll let you go." Ryuji's tone served to mollify him somewhat.

  
But he was resolute. "I do want to know. Tell me. Tell me what you think of."

  
Ryuji sounded cautious. "We just - we used to hang out, him n' me. I dunno if he just got sick of me or what, but we used to always go to the gym or the arcade or whatever. We used to work out. Eat ramen n' shit."

  
He and Ryuji had never spent time alone together save for their Palace forays. Ryuji had apparently enjoyed spending time with Akira in all sorts of ways, but when it came to Yusuke, their activities were of a different nature, and much narrower in scope.

  
He began to wonder if, during those activities, Ryuji's thoughts were ever entirely on him. Maybe that afternoon, even as Ryuji had held him in his hand on the couch, Ryuji's thoughts had been preoccupied with Akira.

  
But he was being selfish again. He had come to treasure their trips inside the Palace, and if Ryuji's thoughts strayed, it didn't matter.

  
Ryuji was the one who had purchased the adhesive bandages and left them beneath Madarame's portrait of him, before they'd argued about his method for making his redlines. Ryuji was the one who had expressed sympathy for his family, the other pupils, and had resolved to put an end to the plagiarism.

  
Ryuji was the one who had helped him to desecrate the statue, his most satisfying work yet.

  
Thinking of all the ways Ryuji had shown him kindness within the Palace cut a swathe through the ugliness and let him see clearly again. "And? When Akira fills your thoughts - when you are not having a good day - are you eating ramen with him? Is that what you imagine?"

  
"Uh. No," Ryuji admitted.

  
"Tell me."

  
"Aw, it's just like - it's like I _know_ he's really only one way, but my fuckin' brain's real determined to forget that and make him the other way. You remember when we were in the museum and talkin' about your redline or whatever? You said you knew it wouldn't really do anything to Madarame all along and you were just - pretendin'? It's like that. It's just like that. It's pretend, 'cept I can't turn it off."

  
It was so small, but just the fact that Ryuji had listened to his concerns closely enough to repeat an earlier conversation back to him was enough to make him feel warm.

  
"I still fail to see why it is so compelling."

  
"You think I fuckin' know?! I was seriously about to smash my phone yesterday, man. I'd do anything. I want this shit to _end."_

  
Ryuji had just made some logical leap that he couldn't follow. "Would removing your ability to chat with Akira fix your problem... ?" he hazarded.

  
"Yeah, exactly. 'N like. Then I couldn't go to the Metaverse either. Smashin' my phone would put an end to fuckin' _everything."_

  
"Don't you want to be a Phantom Thief?" He couldn't understand Ryuji's line of thinking whatsoever.

  
A loud groan in his ear. "God, _you're_ even - ?" This was followed by a great deal of muffled fumbling until Yusuke had to hold his phone away from his ear once more.

  
"Ryuji?"

  
He actually was about to hang up this time when Ryuji finally answered, terse. "You know, this really ain't the best way to distract me."

  
It was true. Their conversation had wandered far afield. "Have you been... ?"

  
A noisy sigh directly in his ear gave him all the answer he needed.

  
He decided to ignore how spectacularly poorly his attempts to distract Ryuji were going and returned to their earlier topic. "It's a good thing you held back from destroying your phone. It would have achieved nothing."

  
"Huh?"

  
"You would still be capable of entering the Metaverse without your own phone," he explained patiently. "Mere proximity is enough. My presence within the Metaverse last night proves that."

  
"You don't gotta drag that shit out _again - "_

  
"Ann, then, if you prefer. Before she awakened her Persona, she was drawn into the first Palace you and the other Thieves infiltrated when you activated the Nav on your phones. You told me yourself," he reminded him.

  
A short, stunned silence. "Fuck."

  
He took a moment to switch his phone to his left hand so he could shake out the muscles of his right. "I would miss our chat conversations if you smashed your phone, Ryuji. Please be careful with it."

  
A very small, "Oh."

  
He thought again of the ugliness he'd felt a few moments before, as Ryuji spoke of Akira, but this time it was twinned with thoughts of Ryuji's acts of kindess for him. He thought of the idea of jealousy itself and how foolish it was.

  
It really all led back to expectations. In all areas of life, if you kept your expectations low, you would never be disappointed. He'd lived by that rule for as long as he could remember, and it had served him well, but for some reason the days he'd spent with Ryuji had led him to behave altogether unlike himself.

  
If he allowed himself to want more than he needed, more than he _deserved,_ it was no one's fault but his own if he wound up heartbroken.

  
"Tell me what you think about. Tell me what you pretend."

  
"You _really_ don't wanna kn- " Ryuji stopped himself, clearly trying to avoid angering him. "Okay, I guess I just don't wanna tell you, is what I really mean."

  
"Why do you deny me time and time again?" he snapped. "The wall of the Palace last night. The couches within, this afternoon. I've allowed you far more than you have ever allowed me."

  
"That's just - I'm tryna be _good,_ man. I'm tryna beat the bullshit."

  
"You told me this afternoon, within the Palace, that you were having a good day," he insisted stubbornly.

  
"Okay, sure, but that was to prove it. Prove I could say no. 'N I don't see how this has anythin' to do with - with what I think about when I'm all fucked up."

  
It seemed he'd need to explain himself. "If I cannot distract you from giving in altogether, then you should change your focus."

  
"To what?"

  
"To my voice."

  
Think of me, and only me.

  
"O-oh - you fuckin' _want_ me to? Now?" Ryuji began to laugh, and Yusuke knew what would follow. Some insult. Some kind of crude innuendo.

  
Ryuji surprised him. "You sure?" There was a smile in his voice, and Yusuke felt his own resurface.

  
"Yes. I am."

  
"Not that I ain't into it, but, like. You're not gonna want to anymore after I tell you."

  
"I will be the judge of that."

  
Ryuji needed a long moment to begin. When he did, he lowered his voice to a whisper, and Yusuke had to strain his ears to make him out. "I think of Akira. When I'm like this."

  
"You've said as much."

  
"I think of him doin' what I'm doin' when - when I'm all fucked up like this."

  
He closed his eyes and let out a long, steadying breath.

  
He took the time he needed to make sure his voice was steady, too. "Do you mean you imagine Akira is with you?"

  
Ryuji sounded grateful to be understood. "Yeah. Like my hand is his. Like - like he's here in my bed or whatever."

  
He thought of the ugliness and how foolish it was. He thought of all the kindness Ryuji had already shown him.

  
He thought of his poor, stupid heart, hopeful and disappointed in equal parts, always.

  
"Are you touching yourself?" This question was foolish, too.

  
"Yeah." There wasn't even any shame in his voice now. And why would there be? He'd begged Ryuji to do this. Ryuji had warned him over and over that this would be something he didn't want, and he hadn't listened.

  
He'd wanted to change Ryuji's innermost thoughts, as if it were so simple. Instead he'd only confirmed his own fears.

  
He lay flat on his back in the empty box of a room he slept in and felt more alone than he ever had before meeting any of the vibrant, confusing, infuriating people that had so disrupted his life just a few weeks ago.

  
He listened in silence to Ryuji breathing in his ear. It had been so long since he had heard the sound of anyone else breathing in the dark room around him.

  
"Are you?" Ryuji's voice startled him.

  
"Pardon?"

  
"Are you?" He lowered his voice to a whisper again. "Gettin' off?"

  
Rude as ever. "Why on earth would I - "

  
Ryuji's voice changed, somehow, though it was hard to put his finger on why he thought that it had. It was warmer in tone, perhaps, or he'd moved his phone closer. Whatever the change was, it made his heart beat harder in his chest. "You should. You're s'posed to." The sibilants of Ryuji's whispering made his hair try to stand on end.

  
The mere idea of what Ryuji was suggesting warmed his face. He felt the faintest stirrings, too, and that warmed his face even more.

  
Now he was whispering himself, unnecessary though it was. "Why do you say that? Why am I _supposed_ to?"

  
"Ain't that what we're doin'?" A pause as he waited for Yusuke to answer, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say, so Ryuji continued. "I want you to," he whispered.

  
Yusuke raised his right hand from his side and let it rest on his stomach.

  
"Why?"

  
Ryuji's voice grew softer still, until Yusuke could barely make him out. "Don't you wanna keep me company?"

  
Perhaps his old talent for falling into fantasies could be put to use here as well.

  
There was a lump in his throat as he reached lower still and settled just his fingertips upon himself through the fabric of his clothing. "Would you have me?" he whispered.

  
He was so foolish.

  
Ryuji did not take his meaning, and he wasn't certain if that was a relief or not. But Ryuji picked up the fantasy so easily that Yusuke realized it was what he'd wanted all along. "Yeah. In my bed? Yeah. You got those long legs though. You better - you better lay on top of me, or there won't be room."

  
He sighed as he felt himself grow firm beneath his fingers, making the fabric taut.

  
Ryuji laughed, but he always laughed. This time it seemed to be out of satisfaction, not out of derision. "I like your voice. Lemme hear you."

  
Ryuji sounded so kind.

  
It didn't matter what Ryuji felt for Akira. What mattered was what Ryuji felt for him.

  
The lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He swallowed around it, hard. "But - what should I say?"

  
"Tell me what you're doin'. Are you? Now?"

  
"Yes. I am." He found his zipper.

  
"That's good. It's - it's a good thing I got the TV on, huh? Nobody's gonna hear us now."

  
"Yessss." He pulled himself free as he spoke, and the sensation turned his answer into a long hiss.

  
"There you go. Now you got it." Ryuji's words were next to meaningless, but Yusuke felt them as warmly as a touch. "I got you in my bed," he said, and now Yusuke could just make out the faintest hint of a teasing tone to his words. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the crooked grin that would accompany that kind of tone perfectly. "You just gonna lay on top of me or what?"

  
This part was more difficult. He cast out for something, anything, and what came to mind was his complaint from before. "Would you let me touch you _now?"_ The words came out much more petulantly than he'd intended.

  
Another laugh, just a quiet huff in his ear as Ryuji whispered, "Yeah. You want to?"

  
"Yes." His hand seemed to move all on its own as his mind drifted to another space. A dark room, across the city, that he'd never seen. "I'd - I want to. I want to see you again. I want to see you - like that."

  
He thought of the view he'd had over Ryuji's shoulder as they worked together to deface the statue. It was the closest he'd gotten to seeing what he was trying to imagine.

  
"You keep seein' me like that whether you want to or not, though. These last few days." Ryuji sounded wryly amused, as though he were pointing out the sheer strangeness of everything they'd seen and done together. As though he were laughing at himself, as well. "Feels like I'm like that all the fuckin' time, honestly. You sure you wanna see me like that?"

  
The idea of Ryuji needing his reassurances even now was a little endearing, he had to admit.

  
"It's far too late for second thoughts. I am in your bed, lying on top of you."

  
_"Yeah,"_ Ryuji sighed in his ear, and the sound of it woke something inside him. Before, he'd only been moving his hand in aimless motions, but now he was reminded of how insistent his body could be. He closed his eyes and slipped his fingers up and over himself, quickly - too quickly. He was unable to stop the embarrassing sound that passed his lips.

  
"You close?" Ryuji sounded surprised. "I forgot you're - " He cut off whatever he was about to say. "You're gonna leave me behind, huh? Okay, if you're here with me, in my bed, I guess I better get you with my hand, like this afternoon."

  
Ryuji's words guided his thoughts back to what they'd done not so long ago on the couches within the Palace. He remembered the way Ryuji had stroked him there with one hand as he used the other to pull him close to his chest.

  
He'd remained silent, so Ryuji continued in a hushed tone. "I got to see you way better today. I liked it. I - I always like it, with you. I like knowin' it was me who got you to come. I like seein' it. You got a nice cock, actually. You always - "

  
The shame was there, and had been in the background for a while. It wasn't enough to make him stop, this time, and he was grateful for that, but it was enough to make him wish Ryuji would be silent. It felt as though Ryuji were testing the limits of what he could listen to without lashing out, and they'd just reached it.

  
"Perhaps we'd put your vulgar mouth to better use, instead."

  
Ryuji only laughed. "I fuckin' tried, remember?" But Yusuke thought he detected an admiring sort of tone to his laughter. "Where d'you even get that shit, if you're so new to this, huh? The public sex thing, too." Then he seemed to reconsider. "You are, right? New to all of it? I just figured you were, if you didn't usually do. You know. This. By yourself, I mean."

  
He'd assumed it was glaringly obvious. The fact that Ryuji had to ask to confirm made him feel strangely proud, as though he were pleased to have deceived him. "Yes. You are my first."

  
"That okay?" Ryuji asked tentatively.

  
Even if it hadn't been, it wasn't as though he could change the chain of events that had led him to meet Ryuji and insert some other person to give him his first experience. "Of course."

  
"Cool." Ryuji sounded strangely relieved. "I like that, too. If - if you were in my bed I'd make it nice for you," he whispered.

  
The shame was still there, but he was able to lay it aside.

  
It felt strange to say the words out loud, but closing his eyes and imagining he really was in Ryuji's room as he listened to his breathing in his ear helped. "I'd like that. And. I would finally see you as closely as I've wanted to from the beginning. I could finally - "

  
Ryuji's voice was different now, but familiar, too. Rough. Yusuke realized it was similar to how Ryuji had sounded as he'd sprawled against his chest in front of the statue. "Fuck," he breathed. "Okay, you - you wanna go for it? You still close?"

  
The way Ryuji's voice sounded sent a jolt of pleasure through him, from the base of his spine to the tip of - where his hand was, and it took him a moment to understand what Ryuji had just asked him.

"I don't know."

  
"I bet you are. C'mon. Lemme hear you," he repeated.

  
The shame made one last attempt to stop him, but he was stronger. Ryuji continued to offer words of encouragement, and he tuned out their meaning, focusing only on the sound of them and Ryuji's breathing in his ear. He tipped on the precipice of it, a second away, when he heard Ryuji's voice change once more. Now, almost inaudible even with how closely he held his phone to his ear, he heard Ryuji utter a tiny strangled cry, something harsh ripped from his throat, and it carried him over.

  
His mind went white as his phone slipped from his fingers and thudded to the futon beside his head, and in his surprise he nearly shouted - a short, wordless syllable that he cut off as quickly as he could, though not as quickly as he'd have liked. It was impossible to focus on it, anyway. He lay still, for all intents and purposes paralyzed, and the sheer relief of the last pulse or two left him breathless for a long moment.

  
When he could move again, he fumbled with his phone and raised it to his ear. Ryuji was laughing, and this time he knew it was at him.

  
He decided to speak first and hopefully direct the conversation that way. "Did I hear you come, Ryuji?" His own voice sounded dreamy and faraway.

  
The laughter stopped. "Probly. I know I heard _you,_ at least."

  
It was hard to sound irritated when his body felt so heavy and warm. "I was merely fulfilling your request. You asked to hear me, if you recall."

  
"Think they heard you over in China." And now Ryuji was leering, he just knew it. But the thought brought a smile to his face. "Shit, did you just say 'come'?"

  
"I suppose I did, at that."

  
"Guess you're the vulgar one now," Ryuji teased.

  
He allowed himself a small noise of disgust, though it was mostly for show.

  
"Ain't it easier, though? If you can just... say it?"

  
It was. Everything was becoming easier. The magnitude of what he and Ryuji had just done was overwhelming, if he thought of it the way his old self would have. "Yes, it is." But his new self seemed to take it all in stride, putting it behind him and turning to a new topic. "And how is your problem?"

  
"Fuckin' _gone,"_ Ryuji said with great satisfaction, and, if he wasn't imagining things, a little pride, too. "Like, for now. It'll be back. But I didn't think of Akira _once_ after you started up with me."

  
He allowed himself a moment to play pretend, foolish as he was, even now. He imagined that what Ryuji had just said was true not only for the minutes he'd spent on the phone with him but for days and days. Days at a time when Ryuji thought of him, and only him.

  
But he mustn't be selfish.

  
Ryuji was speaking again, filling in their silences as he always did. "I better go though. Gotta clean up. You know."

  
He knew very well. "Of course. Will you chat with me, in a few minutes' time?"

  
His heart sank. It was too much to ask. He heard it in Ryuji's tone. "Aw. Sorry. S'okay if we don't? This time? I kinda wanna avoid my phone right now. The chat, I mean. Plug it in n' go to bed, maybe."

  
"Ah. I understand."

  
His feelings swung right back, like a pendulum, as Ryuji's tone became warm again, and now he felt just as pathetic as he did pleased. "Yusuke. That was nice of you. 'N it really helped. Thanks," he whispered.

  
He'd gotten his wish. Ryuji had said his name just the way he'd always said Akira's. He let the sound of it, whispered, play in his mind until he knew he couldn't delay answering any longer.

  
"You are welcome. Goodnight."

  
"G'night."

  
The hour was late enough that he did just what Ryuji had said. He cleaned himself up, changed into the clothing he slept in, curled up on his side and went to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RYUJI: that might be the prettiest thing about jerkin off that's ever been written lol
> 
> Clearly Ryuji has never read the poem The Lonesome Cowboy, by Dalton Wilcox


	17. Art Block

Ryuji fumbled with his phone until he got his alarm turned off, then made sure he was decent and hopped into the shower.

  
His body was awake, but his head wasn't. The hot water picked him up in stages, though, and he finally got himself together enough to start thinking.

  
Last night had been kind of nice.

  
It'd started out nice, at least, when he'd been chatting with Yusuke, and then it had gone south real quick when Akira had started up on him. Same old shit. One more invite to come over in the evening, and one more time he'd managed to turn him down. But it was getting harder.

  
Yusuke'd helped him turn it around again, though.

  
Yusuke'd known he was fucked up, last night. Yusuke'd given him the third degree about it, actually, until there was no way out and he'd had to just flat out tell him what it was like. Akira's hand where his hand was. Akira in his bed.

  
Akira being just as insistent in person as he was over their chat, like he knew the difference between a polite no and a real no when he heard it. Like he knew where Ryuji's head was at better than he did.

  
He'd told Yusuke some of the nasty shit his idiot brain did, like he was digging out a cut that had never gotten cleaned out properly before it'd started to close, and he'd sort of thought the line would go dead at that point. It didn't. It didn't go dead when he'd had to explain what phone sex was supposed to be like - _fuck,_ Yusuke was awkward - and it didn't go dead when he'd finally run out of ways to edge around what they were doing and had to go for the direct approach.

  
Yusuke didn't seem to _like_ the words he'd settled on, maybe, but he'd gotten the gist of it anyway. Instead of telling him to shut up, or hanging up on him, Yusuke'd used some line on him - though with him, it probably wasn't a line. He'd probably just stumbled on it accidentally, but if that was the case, he had to really mean it. He hadn't even sounded like he was joking. Yusuke'd said something about putting his filthy mouth to work.

  
Yusuke. Fuck. He laughed in the shower and rinsed the shampoo out of his hair.

  
That voice of his. Scrawny dude like him had no right to a deep voice like that. If anything, Yusuke should have his voice and he should have Yusuke's. He was the one with the broad chest - well, broad _er_ \- and the muscles.

  
Some muscles, anyway. He checked on them as best he could in the dim light through the shower door and resolved to start hitting the gym again before he lost any more of his hard work. Maybe he'd start going back when his homework was sorted out.

  
He sagged against the front wall of the shower, holding up his weight with the top of his head and his forearms, as what he was thinking about finally hit him. He smiled. It was nice just to be able to _think_ of mundane shit like that. A couple days ago and the thought of the gym, or his workout shit in the closet, would have been enough to put him in the same old hole, the one he'd been digging for so long. Now it was just a thing he could do. He could work out, or he could do his homework - and he knew he could, now. He'd proven it. He hadn't finished the assignment he'd started on over the weekend, so it wasn't like he'd be getting any marks for it, but he counted the progress he'd made on it as a win in his head anyway. It was a start.

  
The hot water beat down on his back until the smile wore out.

  
He looked down. Looked like just Yusuke's voice - the memory of Yusuke's voice, even - was enough, after the way last night had gone.

  
"Aw, fuck off," he said, real quiet. "You're so greedy."

  
He'd said no at the wall, the night before last, and he'd said no on the couches yesterday afternoon. He'd been fucked up last night as he'd talked to Yusuke on the phone, and he hadn't said no, but Yusuke'd led him into something else, something he actually wanted, and it had been so much better that he wasn't sure what it counted as. He hadn't said no, but it wasn't really bullshit by the end of it, either. It was like he'd turned the bullshit into something real. And he hadn't been lying when he'd summed it up to Yusuke just before he'd hung up - he really hadn't thought of Akira, not once, once they'd gotten into it. It wasn't the same crawling, ugly space in his head at all. It wasn't even like Yusuke at the wall, when things had started out so bad and gone so good, because that still had all kinds of weirdass questions surrounding it.

  
So it wasn't like that. The thing they'd done last night wasn't Yusuke at the wall. It was Yusuke on the couch, even though he'd said yes instead of no. He'd said yes to it, he'd given in, but Yusuke had helped him make it something for both of them instead of something just for him.

  
Yusuke'd been so nice to him, too. Yusuke didn't even know what the fuck he was doing, but it had been all his idea.

  
But pulling it all back up again made him remember a couple times, last night, when Yusuke'd sounded sort of off.

  
Yusuke had this weird shame thing. It made no sense. Yusuke had a lot going for him, honestly. Tall and thin. Deep fucking voice. Real pretty face. He already knew Yusuke got looks, some sneaky and some just flat out staring, from taking the train with him to and from the museum with the other Thieves, and he also knew that Yusuke never even _noticed_ them. Just drifted along through the crowds, a head above most, leaving all these double takes behind him as he went.

  
Ryuji got different looks, but whatever. You didn't go bottle blonde if you cared about getting looks.

  
Maybe Yusuke's shame thing wasn't about his face, anyway. His body. He had nothing to worry about in that department, so maybe it was Madarame shit. Something about his fucked up upbringing.

  
He grimaced as he washed his face. Yusuke kept saying this thing. This thing that sounded nice on the surface if you didn't think about it too hard. 'You did not take from me.'

  
It was a Madarame thing, he knew. Madarame'd done nothing _but_ take from Yusuke his entire fucking life. Like he'd been raising him up to be an obedient little art machine for the last ten years or more, from what Yusuke'd said. So Yusuke could crank out a retirement for him - a golden fucking goose - and Madarame could slap his name on every single painting. Take not just the money but all the credit, too.

  
He might not know shit about art, but even he knew you didn't raise a kid like that. Never mind that rusty fucking shack Yusuke was stuck living in. Never mind how he had to figure out his own meals and his own train fare.

  
So Yusuke telling him he hadn't taken from him was supposed to be nice. It was supposed to make him feel better about the bizarro dream shit at the wall. It was supposed to let him know that it wasn't his fault, and that Yusuke either forgave him or that there was nothing to forgive.

  
But he _was_ taking from Yusuke. He was using him.

  
What else did you call it? He treated Yusuke like the perfect distraction.

  
I feel like shit today. Better chat with Yusuke.

  
Same old problem is making me think about sad shit. Better go hide in the museum with Yusuke.

  
Akira's got me all fucked up and hard. Better go do to Yusuke what I wish Akira'd do to me.

  
Better have fucking _phone sex_ with Yusuke. Better shove it in his face how Akira still fucking does this to me. Better make the hierarchy here real clear.

  
The fuck did _Yusuke_ get out of this? Couple handjobs. Wow. Couple handjobs in exchange for getting to be his personal therapist and second choice.

  
He'd asked Yusuke to come out to the museum a bunch now. Chatted with him more than that. Yusuke'd just listened to him go on and on about what Akira did to him, and he still showed up. Kept him company and just let Ryuji tell him all about it.

  
Had fucking phone sex with him, too.

  
Most of the time, during their call last night, Yusuke'd sounded pretty into it. He'd liked it. Some of the time, you could tell the shame thing was there, and that he was sort of trying to talk himself past it. Doing his best to change, like he kept saying. But there'd also been a couple times when he'd sounded pissed. Like Yusuke was sick of his shit.

  
There'd also been at least one time when Yusuke'd sounded sort of sad. Ryuji'd just rolled right over him and kept up the stupid fucking phone sex talk. 'I like your dick' or whatever. Like that was all he was capable of thinking about, now.

  
Like Yusuke wasn't a person, to him, and his dick was all that mattered.

  
Yusuke'd wanted to keep chatting with him - pillow talk, maybe, if you called it that - and he'd told him no. Told him he wanted to go to bed after getting off.

  
I got mine, and you got yours, so go to sleep.

  
He looked down at himself again. " _Fuck off,"_ he hissed.

  
He soaped up his hands with body wash and cleaned himself. That was all it was. It was just hygiene.

  
He'd just started to stroke himself with his smooth, slippery fingers - one long pull back as the head freed itself from his foreskin; one slow drag back up and over the edges of the head as his cock finally lengthened fully, pushing back against his fingertips - when he squeezed his eyes shut and let his hand fall back to his side. He opened his eyes again and just stared down at it, soap suds slowly dripping off the underside, and wrestled with himself until he got his brain to smarten the fuck up.

  
He pictured himself grabbing big double handfuls of fabric - his sheets, actually, and wasn't that sort of fitting? - and clenching his fists around them until his knuckles hurt, tight tight tight. Then letting go and smoothing the whole thing out again until all the creases were gone. Flat and perfect.

  
He shut the bullshit down just as if he was smoothing out his sheets. Swiped away all the wrinkles and started over.

  
With a click he heard in his head, he switched tracks and thought of Yusuke, but not how he'd sounded last night, and not how he always looked in the museum. He thought of him in his normal clothes, the way he saw him on the train and in the Shibuya walkway. He knew from seeing other Kosei dudes around that the pants and the shoes were right, but the shirt was all wrong, and Yusuke never wore his blazer or tie, either. He was the one with the dyed hair and the delinquent status, but Yusuke half assed his uniform even worse than he did.

  
He stood on his tip toes, arched his back and got his junk under the water to rinse it without having to touch himself again. The water hit his cock with enough force to hurt, but that was okay. A little sting might help him get out of here faster.

  
He pictured Yusuke in his nice clothes. Fresh white shirt, pants with a crease, and shiny shoes. He probably fussed over them to make sure they were all neat and tidy every night before he went to sleep. He'd said offhand, like it was just normal, that he didn't get to have lunch half the time, but he sure as hell took the time to polish his shoes and hang up his shirt and do whatever you did to get that line in your nice pants. Yusuke half assed his uniform, but he still put in a lot of effort to do it.

  
He shut the squeaky tap off and towelled himself dry, giving his dick a wide berth, and made himself decent again before he poked his head into the hallway. His mom was still in the kitchen, putting breakfast together, so he crossed the hallway to his bedroom and got his own uniform on. He was digging through his sock drawer when he got an idea.

  
His cock was still half hard, like a reminder of how close he'd gotten to giving in again, but it was also a reminder of what he _didn't_ want. Just about every fucking conversation he'd had with Yusuke lately had turned back around to his stupid fucking dick, and if Yusuke was sick of hearing about it, that was fair. Pretty goddamn understandable, since he was more than sick of it himself.

  
Yusuke'd been real good to him. Yusuke deserved to have one whole afternoon be about him, or about something else he wanted to talk about. Art, or the Phantom Thieves, or whatever. Non-dick topics, anyway.

  
If he thought about it, all he really wanted was to go back to the times when things were okay. When he could think about boring shit. If Yusuke didn't feel chatty himself, they could talk about homework, or manga, or the snacks they liked.

  
Hm.

  
When he came back out, dressed and finally back to normal, his mom was just laying out their bowls on the table, her coffee already by her chair. "Morning, kid."

  
"Mornin'." He dropped himself into his chair and picked up his chopsticks. "Looks good."

  
"Just the usual."

  
Piece of fish, rice, and soup. But it did look good. His mom was good at making simple things perfectly, better than a restaurant could. He dug in.

  
She checked her watch and took a big glug of coffee, then a big bite of her fish. Then looked at her watch again as she chewed.

  
"Runnin' late?"

  
"Nah. Getting there though." She looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup like she was hiding her mouth, and suddenly he knew where things were going to go.

  
He sighed.

  
"So? How's Akira?" There was this little quirk on one side of her mouth. She was good at getting one over on him, more often than not, but her face always showed what she was up to, so she usually found a way to hide it.

  
He shovelled rice in like that would stop her, but he knew it wouldn't. He spoke with his mouth full, and she chose to ignore it. "Wouldn't know. Ain't seen him."

  
That took the grin off her face. "Really? Not even at school?"

  
"Saw himmmm... " He screwed up his face as he thought. "Like, four days ago. Train station. He's got shit to do after school, lately."

  
She didn't bother getting on his case for his mouth anymore. She was still hung up on Akira, anyway. "Aw. Too bad. Thought you guys were all chummy." She checked her watch again, then drained her soup bowl.

  
Ugh. There was more. He could see it on her face. It made him squirm in his seat.

  
"So if you weren't out with Akira on Sunday night, then - "

  
_"Mom - "_

  
She still had that little smirk. Mom Smirk. But she also had that tone he knew he couldn't argue with. "So. Not Akira. Who, then?"

  
He hated lying to her. It felt shitty. He almost never did, except for the little white lies that helped things along. Lies to cover up his problem, usually. Other than that kind of lie, for the kinds of questions he knew she wouldn't really want to know the answer to anyway, he told her everything, and that was really why this was coming back up again, now, when she knew he couldn't get away.

  
Of course he'd fucking gushed about Akira from day one. How cool he was. His life story. Everything but Thieves shit. So of course his mom knew something was up when he'd clammed up again and started keeping his thoughts about Akira to himself. Add that to running off to fuck knows where late at night, and his mom would have to be an idiot to not guess that something was up.

  
Maybe the truth wasn't so bad. Half the truth, anyway.

  
"I went out to see Yusuke."

  
She arched her brows and hummed a little, a 'how interesting' sort of noise, and kept smirking even as she took big bites of her breakfast. "Mm- _hmm._ And who's Yusuke?"

  
"He goes to Kosei. We hang out, sometimes."

  
Her brows went even higher, somehow. "Kosei! How'd you even meet a Kosei boy?"

  
He squirmed more until he realized this one didn't have to be a lie, either. "Train station. Just kinda... ran into him. He's weird, but. Cool."

  
His mom kept chewing in silence, like there was supposed to be more, so he filled it, like he always did.

  
"He lives pretty far away, on the other side of downtown, so it took a while. That's all."

  
"And you couldn't just tell me where you were going becaaause... ?"

  
This one was going to have to be a lie. He stared right through the middle of her face, trying to keep his own face like a statue's. "Thought you'd say no. It was late."

  
"Uh, yeah, you're damn right I'd've said no, kid."

  
He deserved that. He kept up the statue face and the thousand yard stare.

  
"You don't call if you're gonna be hours and hours, late at night? You don't text?"

  
He hadn't realized how long he'd been out until after he'd gotten back on the train, headed home. "It wasn't hours n' _hours,_ it was - well, it was a while, but - "

  
She inhaled to fire back at him, then snapped her mouth shut and let out all of her air through her nose instead. They'd already gone over this when he'd dragged himself back through the door on Sunday night. He'd given her all his sorries then, too, and they both knew this was just a rehash. She settled for knocking back the last of her coffee and noisily clearing up her dishes.

  
He did the same, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to ask for money now.

  
She ran the sink and spoke without facing him. "Least now I know who you were out with," she grumbled.

  
Smooth sailing, now. He could read her moods like a map. Grumbling was for when she wanted to sound mad, even though she wasn't really. "You'd like him. He's smart, 'n he talks like a fuckin' book. An art book."

  
One eyebrow up at that as she rinsed her dishes. "Yeah?"

  
"Yeah, n' he's - " He flailed out for a topic, any topic, and settled for the one that would bring him to money. "He's real tall n' skinny."

  
A noncommittal noise as she put away her dishes and gave him room at the sink.

  
Here goes. "I kinda wanna... Like, he's poor, I guess. Or his dad - his adopted dad - he ain't even fuckin' _poor,_ that's the thing, he's got all this money for _himself,_ but Yusuke don't even get to eat lunch half the time. Makes his own dinner every night, too." He kept his head down and washed his bowls.

  
"Mm." She was going to make him beg.

  
"'N Yusuke's nice. I think so. I kinda wanna take him out for food, after school, today."

  
He'd never had a formal allowance. Instead he usually came up to his mom with his hand out around the middle of the month, after her paycheque came and the big bills had been paid.

  
Their deal used to be that as long as he kept out of trouble and put his free time into the track team, she'd give him some pocket money when he asked nice for it, instead of arching her eyebrows at him and pointing out all the help wanted signs she'd seen the last time she went through Shibuya. After the Kamoshida thing, she'd quietly let the deal lapse and seemed to be satisfied as long as he didn't get sent home with any more letters from the principal. The amount she handed over changed based on their circumstances and on how much he'd helped out, but she always said yes.

  
Of course, he'd never pulled anything like what he'd done on Sunday night. His mom sort of squinted at his face. "You're gonna ask _now?_ Pretty ballsy, kid. You're technically grounded."

  
That 'technically' meant he _wasn't_ grounded, of course. Not in any way that counted, since his mom got home so much later than he did. "Please?"

  
"What happened to what I gave you last month?" But she was digging through her purse.

  
Actually, the last time he'd spent a good chunk at once had been on lube and fucking bandaids for Yusuke, of all things, but that was another thing that he was going to have to keep to himself. "I almost got enough. I just wanna make sure to have a bit extra so he can get a drink, too."

  
He was laying it on thick, and his mom rolled her eyes right in his face. But she also shoved a few bills into his hand. "'Yusuke' is sounding a bit made up right now, if you ask me."

  
"What?! I wouldn't - "

  
"He an orphan, too? His adoptive dad's a real mean... taskmaster? He makes Yusuke make - " She waved her hand around in circles, looking for something ridiculous. "Shoes? All night?"

  
"Uh, actually - "

  
"You _call_ or _text_ if you're not gonna make it back by dinner. Got it?"

  
"I will."

  
She yanked her jacket on with one hand and reached up high to pat the top of his head with the other. "New style?"

  
"Huh?"

  
"No product today?"

  
"Oh, shit - "

  
"Better get a move on." She hooked her arm around his neck to bring him down to her level and gave him a big smack with her lips on his cheek. "Have a nice time with 'Yusuke'."

  
"He's _real - "_

  
She just laughed in the apartment hallway as he got the door behind her. He ran to the bathroom to do up his hair and just barely made it out the door in time himself.

  
\----------

  
He couldn't get a seat on the train, so he claimed an overhead handhold instead, swaying in place with the other passengers as he tapped into his phone onehanded.

  
RYUJI: mornin  
RYUJI: sleep good?

  
Yusuke didn't leave him waiting long at all. He had a longer ride to Kosei than Ryuji did to Shujin, so he'd probably already been on the train for a while.

  
YUSUKE: Good morning. Yes, I slept well.

  
The cash in his pocket was making him anxious. It was just food after school, just ramen or beef bowl or burgers. It was just what he used to do with Akira, and even Ann a few times over the years. His buddy Mishima, too, before they'd grown apart. But it felt more important than just food. He wanted to get this part over with and skip to the part where he got to look forward to it all day, so he tapped it in quick and sent it before he could chicken out.

  
RYUJI: you free today? after school?

  
This time, Yusuke started to put in some text and then left him waiting for a long time. More than one whole stop. Either Yusuke was typing an entire novel or he had to really think about it.

  
His stomach didn't feel too great, all of a sudden.

  
YUSUKE: Madarame is home again. He spoke with me this morning.  
RYUJI: yeah?  
YUSUKE: My lack of progress on his next painting has been noted.  
RYUJI: uh not a fun convo i'm guessin  
YUSUKE: You might say that. He also chastised me for my absences after school. The time that you and I have been spending within the Palace.  
YUSUKE: I had hoped to use his frequent absences to mask my own, but now I've been caught.  
YUSUKE: I have never lied to him before.  
RYUJI: good for you man  
YUSUKE: I suppose. I did say that I wanted to change, after all.  
YUSUKE: But it doesn't feel good.

  
He had no idea what to say to that. His chest felt tight with all the things he wanted to say to back Yusuke up, but if he didn't know which way Yusuke was feeling toward Madarame today, he had no way to say it, so it just stayed like that. An uncomfortable swelling of unspoken... something. He didn't know what to call it without any words to pin it down.

  
Words were hard. It had been like this with Akira, too, after their first fucked up day in the castle together. The day they'd met, actually. He hadn't had the slightest clue what you were supposed to do or say after something like that, but Akira'd saved his life, and that needed something more than just 'thanks'. So he'd taken him out for beef bowl. It seemed pretty fucking inadequate if he thought of it like that.

  
The fact that he'd also been hunting for an excuse to drag out the minutes he could justify spending with Akira, right from the first day he'd met him, was something he'd tried to keep shut away when he'd looked back on it before. Now, he knew what it was, and now, he had somebody who he knew felt the same way back.

  
Somebody who he guessed felt the same way back, at least.

  
He kept stomping it back down, the dicey, amped up kinda feeling that he had somebody to like who liked him right back, because he didn't want to get his hopes up. The last couple months, the whole time he'd had this ugly thing for Akira, had practically been the definition of why you didn't get your hopes up. It was so you didn't get burned. But the phone thing last night, and the thing on the couch yesterday afternoon, and the thing at the wall the night before that had to add up to _something._ Yusuke was new to this shit, but - and he realized that it wasn't fair to keep thinking that, because, honestly, he was too.

  
All he had over Yusuke was experience with Ann, and that was so far from dating that he figured it didn't count. Yusuke'd just started on all the physical shit, but he suspected that neither of them knew how you fucking asked somebody out. How you let them know that you gave a shit about them, and not just because you liked their body.

  
He'd had two or three weeks with Ann, and it really _had_ just been that. Just fucking around. He kept hoping for more with Yusuke, but maybe this was all Yusuke wanted it to be.

  
He snorted. Fuck. His own stupid fucking brain had him coming and going. Things _could_ be going good. Him and Yusuke _might_ both want the exact thing. But his head had him convinced that he was either using Yusuke, treating him and his dick as a distraction from his own problems, or that things were at the other end of the scale - that Yusuke'd say no if he asked him for more. That Yusuke liked the occasional handjob in exchange for being treated like his second choice just fine, and putting words on it would ruin it, just like how things had ended with Ann. Maybe it was just fucking around for Yusuke, too, like it had been with Ann.

  
Maybe he just wasn't boyfriend material. Maybe it was just something that people could see when they looked at him.

  
But Yusuke'd never really answered his question. Unless the Madarame talk had been his way of saying he was grounded, too, in a way that actually stuck.

  
RYUJI: if you can make it, i was gonna say we should do somethin outside the museum for once  
RYUJI: we could make it short. if you got art to do

  
He didn't want to be pushy, though. He already felt that way a lot of the time with Yusuke. Yusuke'd started typing, so he tapped one more message in and beat him to it.

  
RYUJI: it's okay if you can't. i don't wanna get you in trouble. more trouble  
YUSUKE: Why do you suggest we spend time outside the Palace? I was under the impression that you were comfortable there.  
YUSUKE: I certainly feel more comfortable there.

  
That was as nice a no as he was going to get.

  
It really was just fucking around to Yusuke. He just wanted the physical shit.

  
That was okay.

  
Last night had been a friend thing, then. Or whatever you called what they were now. Yusuke'd helped him forget Akira and talked him into something else because it was a nice thing to do.

  
But he'd gotten his hopes up.

  
RYUJI: it's okay. don't worry about it then

  
Yusuke just changed the subject.

  
YUSUKE: The group chat has been quite active in your absence. It might be wise to make an appearance.

  
Of course he hadn't even stuck his head in for days and days. Even Akira giving him shit for it on Sunday night hadn't been enough to get him to look at it since. It had gotten to be like his homework - one more thing on the pile of shit he very carefully didn't think about.

  
But even this shit with Yusuke wasn't enough to make him forget that he'd started doing better, too. He'd shut it down in the shower today, and he'd been able to start thinking about homework and working out without the bullshit taking over. Akira'd be in the group chat today, but that didn't matter. He could do it. He could be good.

  
He fucking had to be. He was on the train. There were two dudes and an office lady sitting just a couple feet in front of him.

  
When he opened it up, holding his breath, Ann and Akira were talking about him, and had been for a while. He scrolled up and up until he found the start of it, or close to it.

  
AKIRA: He must be really busy with something, I guess.  
ANN: him? doubt it  
AKIRA: Aw, don't be mean. ;)  
ANN: I'm not being MEAN, I just mean  
ANN: you know  
ANN: like, I don't think he's got any clubs to go to  
YUSUKE: Good morning.  
ANN: morning Yusuke!  
AKIRA: Hi Yusuke.  
AKIRA: Morgana says good morning too.  
AKIRA: He gets mad if I don't type it lol.  
ANN: hey, so. Akira says you and Ryuji hang out sometimes  
ANN: right?

  
How did Akira even know that?

  
He checked the timestamps. There was a suspicious gap, longer than there had been between any of the other messages in their group chat. Yusuke'd kept them waiting for a few minutes before he answered.

  
YUSUKE: Yes, we do. Sometimes.

  
He grimaced at his phone, even as he had to admit that he wouldn't have known what the fuck to say to that either, if he'd been in Yusuke's place. And it wasn't like he'd asked Yusuke to keep it a secret. Whatever you called it, this thing they had, that had Yusuke pissed about not being allowed to touch his dick on the couch yesterday but also refusing to even go out to eat with him today.

  
ANN: do you know why he stopped checking the chat?

  
Ugh.

  
AKIRA: Told you. He's too busy.  
ANN: busy with whatttt tho  
AKIRA: I keep trying to hang out with him, too, but he's too... busy.  
AKIRA: Do you know what he's got going on, Yusuke?  
AKIRA: Has he told you anything while you've been hanging out?

  
Another small but noticeable gap in the timing of the messages in the group chat.

  
YUSUKE: Apologies. Ryuji has been helping me with my art these last few afternoons.

  
Shit. He held his breath again as he hurriedly skimmed the rest of the messages until he'd caught up.

  
ANN: aw that's nice  
AKIRA: That's cool. Like that painting for Madarame you were telling me about?  
AKIRA: The one that was giving you trouble?  
YUSUKE: No. I'm finding it difficult to find the motivation to continue painting for Madarame.  
YUSUKE: This art is for myself.

  
He jumped into the chat before Yusuke could put his foot in his mouth. Yusuke'd started a new message again but, even onehanded, he beat his slowass typing easily.

  
RYUJI: hi guys  
RYUJI: sorry i've been gone. i'll check the chat more. promise  
ANN: there you are!  
ANN: are you just posing for Yusuke? like how I did? cuz I bet you could read the chat at the same time...

  
It felt shitty to lie, but it'd feel even worse if Yusuke said one word too many. Akira had never actually gone out and said it, but he got the distinct impression that skulking around the Metaverse without the other Thieves was considered off limits. Even if the Shadows did decide to give him and Yusuke a free pass.

  
RYUJI: yeah probly. sorry  
ANN: oh well  
AKIRA: No big deal. But I think we'll infiltrate the Palace tomorrow.  
AKIRA: If you guys aren't too busy.

  
"Fuck," he muttered, and jammed his phone in his pocket so he wouldn't have to look at it. Then took it right back out again so he wouldn't have to see the people on the train glaring at him.

  
YUSUKE: Of course infiltrations take priority.  
RYUJI: yeah of course. i'll be there

  
That had to be enough. That _had_ to be enough to show that he was checking the group chat again. He tabbed over to his one on one chat with Yusuke again, his pulse still pounding in his ears.

  
RYUJI: shit that was close  
RYUJI: how does he fuckin know though???  
RYUJI: did you tell him? that we were hangin out?  
YUSUKE: Would that be so terrible? If someone knew that you were spending time with me, of your own volition?  
YUSUKE: No. I didn't tell him.

  
The fuck did _that_ mean? He kept rereading Yusuke's messages, then switched back to the group chat, and then pulled up Yusuke's messages again. He couldn't tell if Yusuke was pissy about keeping their museum trips a secret, or if he was pissy about having to cover his ass for him in the group chat, or if there was no pissiness there at all. Maybe he was just imagining it. Yusuke tended to type just like he talked, as deadpan as his face and without a whole lot of clues about how he was feeling, and there'd already been a couple times in the past that he'd completely misread him.

  
RYUJI: hey um. yusuke  
RYUJI: i wanted to talk to you, last night. you know. after  
RYUJI: i was just worried i wouldn't be able to say no again. if i had my chat with akira there  
RYUJI: that was the only reason. i would've, though

  
Yusuke didn't answer.

  
And Yusuke'd already said no to more. Yusuke'd already said he didn't even _want_ to be closer - that had to be what turning him down for this afternoon meant. Yusuke hadn't said he wanted to, but couldn't. He hadn't said sorry, maybe tomorrow. It was just no. Actually, Yusuke'd seemed confused that he'd even ask, like there was no point in even considering something outside the museum. Something that wasn't just the physical shit, the shit they'd started getting up to on the couches inside the museum, or over the phone last night.

  
But he still wanted to set it straight.

  
RYUJI: that's kinda why i wanted to see you after school  
RYUJI: somethin other than the museum  
RYUJI: you been nice n i wanted to be nice too, i guess

  
Big fat silence.

  
RYUJI: that's okay though. see you tomorrow

  
\----------

  
He got through school okay, and he got through the time at home okay too, before his mom finished her shift, by sitting in the Thieves' group chat and scrolling through forum posts on his laptop. Like he could make up for avoiding Thieves shit for days and days all in one sitting. After dinner, his room was harder to concentrate in than the living room was, even with his mom's shows on, so he piled up his books around him on his side of the couch and dragged his brain, kicking and screaming, through a single class's homework. English idioms. He couldn't guess at how much of it he'd gotten _right,_ but at least he'd gotten something finished.

  
It felt good.

  
His mom turned the TV low during a commercial break and twisted sideways to face him on the couch. "You guys have fun?"

  
"Huh?"

  
"You and Yusuke." He kept himself to his room in the evenings, most of the time, so it made sense that his mom wanted to talk, since he was out here for once.

  
He pretended to shove her arm. "Oh, so you _do_ think he's real, huh?"

  
"I dunno, is he?" She shoved his shoulder right back.

  
He grinned. Yusuke was pretty weird. Maybe that was a fair question. "Yeah. He is."

  
"Where'd you go eat?"

  
He hadn't really counted on having to answer questions about it. Now that she'd reminded him, the grin on his face made itself scarce. "Oh, uh. He's busy. Got paintin' to do, I guess."

  
"Wondered why you stuck around for dinner." His mom was looking at him real hard, too hard, so he took a minute to tidy up his books and stacked them on his lap. When he looked up again, she was still doing it, too, so he looked at his books again in a hurry.

  
She hadn't even asked a question, but she'd left a silence, so he filled it, like he always did. "Think he's pissed at me."

  
"Yeah?" She was still turned sideways, and this time, when he didn't answer right away, she stuck out her socked foot and kicked his knee lightly, then left her foot on the couch between them.

  
He let his knee relax against her heel and finally looked her in the eye again. "He stopped answerin' me. We been hangin' out every day, n' chattin' almost every day, but - "

  
His mom had this superior sort of look on her face. A Mom Face for sure. "You guys sound close."

  
He scowled, and this time he left the silence alone.

  
"You guys'll make up. How long's it been? Since he talked to you?"

  
"This morning, when I was on the train. He just stopped... answerin'."

  
"Not _that_ long, then."

  
She didn't get it. "Yeah, but he sounded pissed - I mean, I think he did, he sorta talks like a robot no matter what, but - "

  
"Give him a day." His mom smiled at him, her eyes crinkling up at the corners, until he gave in and sent her a little one back. "You said he's got it sort of rough at home, right? So maybe it's not even something you said. Maybe it's family stuff."

  
She pushed into his knee with her socked foot again as she said it. They knew all about having it rough at home, though they didn't talk about it much anymore. But his mom looked sort of sympathetic, and this time he knew it was for Yusuke.

  
Yusuke had sounded pretty torn up about whatever Madarame had been on his ass about this morning. The painting he hadn't been working on. He wasn't going to pretend that Yusuke wasn't at least a little bit pissed at him - he'd read and reread his messages from this morning enough times to figure at least some of it had to be about him - but maybe a bit of it was because of Madarame, too. There was a chance.

  
Maybe Yusuke wanted to talk to him, but Madarame had taken his phone away. Maybe Madarame was so shitty that he was fucking looking over Yusuke's shoulder until he got that painting done.

  
He probably had some apologizing to do, whenever Yusuke felt like talking again, but after talking it out with his mom, it felt a little more likely that he'd at least have another shot at making it right.

  
He grinned at his mom. "Yeah. Maybe."

  
"Let him talk when he's ready. When you text with me you go overboard, sometimes."

  
"Alright, alright."

  
He stayed out in the living room with her, watching a couple episodes of some dumb game show and laughing over nothing, until it was late enough for both of them to go to bed. His phone didn't have any new notifications, so he left it on the charger and went to sleep thinking of ways to fix things with Yusuke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're getting dating advice from your mom, huh


	18. Fundamentals

After school, Yusuke was the last to show up at the hideout in the Shibuya walkway for their meeting, since he had the farthest to travel. They all said their hellos and made their small talk, like always.

  
Ryuji scooched down the railing that he was leaning on, making room for him to stand beside him, but Yusuke just went on by and leaned against the wall, like always.

  
He turned around and gave Yusuke a smile, trying to figure him out, but Yusuke just gave him the deadpan nonexpression that he was so good at, like always.

  
He faced forward and stared out the window, trying not to think too hard about Yusuke, a couple feet away, or Akira, a couple inches away.

\-----

  
The Palace felt foreign with the other Thieves inside it.

  
He'd grown accustomed to methodically uncovering its secrets alone, at his own pace and while avoiding detection at all costs, and, after that, to blundering through it with Ryuji with all caution thrown to the wind. This time, Yusuke experienced the now-strange sensation of inching along corridors and flattening himself into the shadows while also having to be aware of the presence of four others, all squeezing themselves into the same cramped corners and taking pains to keep their breathing and footsteps from being overheard.

  
It was comforting.

  
He'd only known them for a few short weeks, but the fact that there was always someone close at hand slowed his heartrate and helped to ease some of the discomfort of infiltrating again. He took point and knelt to peer around a wall, and Akira was there, crouched above him to check their angle of approach and brushing the small of his back with his knee.

  
He dodged in battle and evaded the Shadow easily but tipped too far, and for one second, his heart in his throat, he windmilled like a fool and nearly lost his balance. But Ann was there, laughing, though not unkindly, as she put one hand upon his elbow and the other between his shoulderblades to shift his weight, just so, to set him back on his feet.

  
He wasn't so lucky in their next encounter. A Shadow enveloped him in blistering flames that stole the breath from his lungs and sent him straight to the floor, singed and too stunned to think of anything but the pain. But Morgana was there, lobbing a fat green sphere of light his way and chirping some cheery reassurance that he couldn't make out, though the sound of it buoyed him just like the magic did.

  
They all hung back in respectful silence as Akira studied their map, spread from one edge of the saferoom table to the other, and Ryuji was there. A warmth at his side that he enjoyed without further introspection until Ryuji cleared his throat to speak, breaking the silence and making him remember both himself and everything they'd done together. He felt his face grow warm, and he jolted away out of propriety.

  
Things between him and Ryuji felt different with the other three Thieves present. The shame was there, too.

  
The women's washroom had meant nothing to him during their previous infiltrations, but now the sight of it, or more accurately the corner next to it, made his entire body flush hot as Akira led them past it, as though he'd come down with some kind of localized fever. And Madarame's gaudy statue held very different associations now that he and Ryuji had completed their art project, associations that he'd have welcomed had he not been struggling to focus on the task at hand. Instead he tried to keep his head down and his eyes to himself as they crept down the hushed corridors.

  
Keeping his eyes to himself during combat was proving to be more difficult.

  
Ryuji was _kinetic._ There was no other word for it. His grace was different from Ann's, and at first Yusuke thought that was the extent of it. That the difference might be explained away along with all the other differences between his very masculine acquaintence and his very feminine acquaintence. But Ryuji's grace was different from Akira's, too.

  
At first glance there was no comparison. When he wasn't doing backflips and forward rolls, Akira moved with an economy that seemed almost lazy if you ignored the results, whereas Ryuji hurtled forward, full bodied and unstoppable, for better or worse. But there _was_ grace there. The swing of his pipe as he extended his body to its limit, or the way he levered himself up from the floor after a Shadow stunned him.

  
There was even grace in the way he braced himself for a blow. He drew himself upright, feet spread wide apart, and when it had become clear that there was no avoiding it, he simply took it. He resigned to it, as though a certain share of pain was to be meted out to each of them, and this was his.

  
The way Ryuji took blows from the Shadows was not so different from the way he stood with his back arched to accept the tip of Yusuke's blade, presenting the front of his body to allow him to slice open his suit, and that observation brought with it plenty more associations that were perhaps saved for a better time. Yusuke took a blow from the same Shadow as his reward for allowing himself to become distracted, and Morgana scolded them both.

  
If he was going to be honest with himself - a recent development - then he should admit that he wasn't only admiring Ryuji's grace.

  
It had something to do with his suit, stretched tight over his chest and the muscles of his back but collecting in folds at his hips. In places it seemed tight enough to hinder breathing, had the material been less yielding, and these areas caught the light in broad glossy swatches; but in other places it was a little looser, the wrinkles in the material all but lost in oily black and only just barely defined by glimpses of greasy reflected light. Sickly yellow from the display lights in the exhibit hall here, or a sullen cherry red from the laser sensors there. His suit could have been a thin coating of sticky, glittering tar, though there was nothing slow about it or him. Ryuji flung himsef through the Palace, and through Shadows, too, and his ever shifting suit revealed his nature. It matched him perfectly.

  
Of course he had fallen for Ryuji. He was change itself. Speed. Motion. His lively face, never at rest. His body and the way it moved, defusing tension and communicating in ways its owner was unaware of. So much of Ryuji was what he wanted to be.

  
But, watching Ryuji as closely as he was, it was easy to see that something was wrong.

  
He himself had taken a few blows from the Shadows today. His own fault, of course, for allowing his thoughts to be overtaken. But he'd landed far more, and had called forth Goemon to crush the enemy again and again with satisfying precision. Overall, despite a few missteps here and there, he was doing well. The exertion picked him up and carried him along with it, as it always did inside the Metaverse, where the consequences of pushing his body were delayed, and he had begun to enjoy himself.

  
Ryuji had actually done fairly well during the first few encounters of their infiltration. He'd carried himself with his old confidence, and the Shadows had fallen in short order. But now he was flagging.

  
It was no longer only the most unexpected attacks that found their target. Ryuji had stopped avoiding blows entirely, he realized, and simply let the Shadow thud into him, sometimes grunting low on impact and other times remaining completely silent. Akira had sent Ann back outside for now, and so it was Morgana who healed Ryuji again and again, speeding balls of light his way and accompanying them with increasingly caustic comments until even Akira had had enough and silenced the cat with a brusque hand motion.

  
Instead of rising to the bait, Ryuji accepted Morgana's criticism in the same uncharacteristic silence that he accepted the healing and the blows alike. The point of his jaw was covered with a dark crust of mostly clotted blood, left behind when the cut beneath it was closed by the magic, and the collar of his suit hung limp over one shoulder, nearly completely detached and in tatters. And Yusuke knew that Ryuji's suit covered other evidence of the attacks he seemed to be incapable of dodging.

  
Ryuji fared no better when it came to offense. At first, during the first few battles of the infiltration, Ryuji had done well, and Yusuke had admired his grace. His strength. But now Ryuji missed far more Shadows than he hit. There was something about his approach each time that broadcast to the Shadow what was to come - whether to expect an overhand swing of his pipe or a jab, an uppercut sort of blow or a feint from the side - and, time after time, the Shadow ducked out of reach. From where he stood several feet behind him, Yusuke judged that Ryuji was giving his attacks his usual power and his usual speed. But the Shadows saw them coming and evaded them more often than not.

  
Akira had explained this away during their last infiltration as a cold, right before he'd sent Ryuji outside to rest and sit out the rest of the mission, and Yusuke had of course taken that at face value. He hadn't known how Ryuji felt for Akira, at that point, and he also hadn't had the slightest inkling that it could so consume Ryuji that even a mythological beast out for his blood couldn't shake him from his distraction.

  
It had to be the same reason, this infiltration. There was no other explanation. Yusuke began to look to Akira expectantly at the conclusion of each battle, waiting for him to give Ryuji the order to trade out with Ann in the parking lot in front of the Palace, but the order never came. Akira treated Ryuji the same way he always did - the same way he treated each of them, in fact: clapping him on the back or offering the occasional word of encouragement when Ryuji did connect a hit, and maintaining an easy silence when he didn't. Akira simply ignored Morgana's rapidly depleting resources and, when he did finally give the order to change the lineup, it was given to the cat, not to Ryuji. Rather than openly admit that there was a problem, Akira seemed to prefer to continue on in much the same way they already had for the last few hours.

  
Akira had always struck him as a sharp, capable leader in each of their other infiltrations. He couldn't decide if this was misguided kindness - an unwillingness to call attention to Ryuji's incompetence in battle, perhaps - or something else.

  
Ryuji's posture had changed once more. Now he stood braced for impact at all times and left his head hung low, as though every blow was unavoidable, instead of holding his usual wary, anticipatory stance. The Shadows sensed the change, whatever it was, and darted forward to snipe at him and only him, like sharks circling. Ann healed him at every opportunity, and Akira picked up the slack when she couldn't keep up, but Ryuji was barely upright.

  
Enough was enough. When they scraped through that fight, too, and finally felled the last Shadow, Yusuke opened his mouth to protest, catching Ann's eye at the very last moment.

  
Her face silenced him. Angry tears stood in the corners of her eyes, and her mouth was pressed into a thin line. But she stared him down and slowly shook her head.

  
He closed his eyes with relief when Akira spoke up all on his own. "Thought we could make it to the next safe room, but I think we better backtrack. You guys look like you could use a break."

  
Yusuke looked over at Ann, covertly, and caught her giving him much the same sort of look. An evaluatory sort of look. The two of them, and Akira, too, weren't doing badly at all. Ryuji had taken the brunt of the damage, and had done so fight after fight. Akira would have to be blind not to see it.

  
Within the dim blue gloom of the safe room, they each took a seat - Ann atop the table in the centre, and Akira and Yusuke in chairs pulled up to it. Ryuji generally did the same, but this time he drifted to the couch at the far side of the room, as though he intended to keep as much distance between himself and the other Thieves as possible.

  
When Yusuke saw him begin to adjust the position of the ammo belts crossed low over his hips, his suspicions were confirmed.

  
He waited until Akira and Ann were engaged in their own conversation - something lighter than what was on his own mind, he assumed, judging by the way Akira whispered into Ann's ear and by the way she slapped at his arm, grinning - and strode to Ryuji's side, remaining standing and leaning against the wall beside the couch rather than having a seat.

  
Ryuji lifted his head, slowly, and gave him a long, blank look. Even behind his mask, his eyes looked empty, sitting in sunken sockets. He actually did look sick, though Yusuke doubted it was a cold this time. Not that it had been a cold last time, for that matter.

  
Standing the way he was, he hoped to avoid drawing the others' attention. He and Ryuji were only having a conversation, as friends did. There was no reason to suspect more. Ryuji had already made it clear that he did not want the other Thieves, or perhaps Akira, specifically, to know the nature of their relationship, so Yusuke kept his voice low.

  
"Why aren't you having a good day?" Yusuke asked, facing forward.

  
A deep sigh. "It's just - it's just the bullshit. You know why."

  
They both stared at Akira, now slowly spinning his mask upon one gloved fingertip and still deep in conversation with Ann.

  
Ryuji predicted his next question. "It ain't exactly _helpin'_ to have him here, but it ain't even really that. I kinda - I almost feel better around him. Like, better n' I did," he whispered.

  
Ryuji's problem was frustratingly fickle. "But the other night, when we spoke on the phone, you were - "

  
"Shhhhh - " Ryuji hissed, then nudged his belts an inch lower. "Yeah, I fuckin' _know_ I was. I was _there."_

  
The idea that he could give anything of value to Ryuji was foolish. He clearly did not understand Ryuji's problem well enough to give advice, and Ryuji didn't seem to gain anything from his company, either. He pushed off of the wall to stand upright and took a step toward the table to join Ann and Akira.

  
"'m sorry. Come back." Ryuji brushed his fingers with the backs of his, only the briefest touch between their gloved hands.

  
He let himself be convinced to return to his spot beside the couch, content to wait for Ryuji to start making sense at his own speed.

  
It was how he'd felt for days now. Compliant. Yielding to Ryuji's suggestions. Every visit to the Palace in the afternoons, when Ryuji wanted to avoid his problem. Every request to chat, even when he should have been painting, or completing his homework. Any excuse to spend time with Ryuji was sufficient.

  
But after their phone conversation last night, the idea of seeing Ryuji had begun to hurt.

  
He kept telling himself it was selfish to want more than he had, but instead of being happy with what he _did_ have, the sentiment twisted inside him and turned even his memories bitter. Ryuji tending to him so eagerly on the couch within the Palace had only led to Ryuji chatting with Akira a few hours later. Ryuji had never told him much about the content of these conversations, but he did know they left Ryuji in the same state he'd been in himself, last night, as they'd spoken on the phone.

  
Akira put Ryuji in that state, and Yusuke got him out of it. Akira made Ryuji deeply upset, intentionally or not, and Yusuke talked him out of that, too.

  
It was selfish to want more. But he wanted to be selfish, for once. He had never allowed himself to want... to want _anything._ He had carefully shepherded himself away from want, the very idea of want, for his entire life, and he'd thought he was happy enough. As though the deliberate denial of unhappiness - the idea that you could tell yourself that you had nothing to be sad about - was what happiness was at its core.

  
He had had a disagreement with Madarame yesterday morning, in the kitchen. The first he could remember other than one or two childish tantrums when he had been very small. He had lied to Madarame, too, citing a lack of inspiration for his dismal progress on the painting he'd promised him, and he knew with certainty that that had truly been the first time he'd actually lied to him.

  
Madarame hadn't been angry. He'd put his hand on his head, warm and heavy, just as he'd done when he was a child, and assured him it was alright. He knew Yusuke was hard at work, despite the fact that the canvas had remained unchanged for days and days. He knew Yusuke would produce a work of unrivalled insight and beauty.

  
He knew that Yusuke would make some lucky collector very happy.

  
Yusuke had lied through his teeth until Madarame had returned to the room he used for his phone calls, carefully preserving the salient parts of the conversation for later dissection. That Madarame visited the room he slept in when he wasn't there. That Madarame hadn't even bothered to pretend that his paintings served any purpose other than to satisfy naked, unequivocal greed.

  
He'd carefully preserved the sensation of Madarame's hand upon his head, too.

  
Ryuji was no Madarame, but this was what care was in any light, and wanting for more was not only selfish but pointless. Ryuji had shown him time and time again how he felt, and now he was struggling. It was his turn to give Ryuji a sign.

  
Ryuji had asked him to spend time with him outside the Palace yesterday, and he hadn't said yes, but it was only the selfish part of him that had resisted. The part of him that was tired of being compliant and understanding of Ryuji's feelings for Akira. The part of him that was greedy enough to want the whole of it.

Think of me, and only me.

  
But the rest of him wanted to see Ryuji very much.

  
He kept his eyes on Ann and Akira, still keeping their voices down and their heads close together, and carefully raised his gloved hand from his side. He moved it, blindly, up to Ryuji's shoulder and left it there until he could feel the warmth of Ryuji's body, even through the fabric of his glove and the synthetic material of Ryuji's suit. It took only a moment or two. Ryuji ran hot.

  
Ryuji was looking at him, he knew, but he kept his own eyes straight forward, locked on the other two Thieves.

  
Ryuji picked up his hand and removed it from his shoulder.

  
Oh.

  
But when it came time for Ryuji to let his hand go, he didn't. He held it in his, though he kept them both out of Ann and Akira's line of sight. Ryuji made sure that Yusuke's body obscured their hands, and he didn't say a word, but he gripped his fingers tightly until Akira abruptly twisted in his seat and asked if they were ready to go.

  
They both assured him that they were. Ryuji released his hand, without being detected and without speaking, and they ventured back out into the Palace.

  
\----------

  
Their infiltration led them to the Sayuri gallery, as Yusuke had known it would.

  
He thanked his past self for being so prescient. For most of his life, he had come to rely upon his emotions going undetected, but recent events seemed to have changed that. Ryuji had commented more than once that Yusuke had actually smiled, or looked angry, or had made some other throwaway remark that led him to believe his face or voice were communicating more than he was used to.

  
He didn't particularly mind if Ryuji was able to tell how he was feeling, but it wasn't only him. When he had had his uncomfortable discussion with Madarame yesterday morning, his face must have conveyed _something._ He had no way of knowing what. But something must have spurred Madarame to lay his hand upon his head like that. Something in his face or voice must have inspired... sympathy, he decided.

  
Or it was pity. Or Madarame hadn't felt a thing, and it was merely more of the acting that had made such a fool of Yusuke for most of his life.

  
Whatever it had been, he didn't relish the idea of the Thieves feeling the same for him as they infiltrated the Sayuri gallery. Luckily, he had already been here before, once in life and once more in his dreams, and the sting was lessened.

  
When he had first discovered this place alone, five days ago, the sight of Sayuri after Sayuri had sent him to his knees. Before him stood rows of copies of his reason for painting, turning it into something cheap and easily reproduced. And it wasn't only painting. The Sayuri was also his reason for enduring all that he had under Madarame - though as he thought that, he realized that it felt like a copout. He hadn't just endured the lies but had accepted them. He had _embraced_ them. Madarame introduced the lies, but he was the one who had raised them over his head like shelter.

  
He was complicit. Madarame offered up the lie of the Sayuri, the symbol of beauty and truth that Yusuke had labored under for all his life, but it took two, didn't it? The lies had worked for him, so he had accepted them. The lies gave him a loving father, and a home, and a goal to justify all the long hours and the surrendered paintings. The lies let him go on.

  
He'd known for years, of course.

  
He'd seen what Madarame asked of the other pupils. He'd watched them dwindle, and he'd said nothing. Done nothing. The beauty of the Sayuri was his beacon, and he had shut his eyes to all else.

  
The Thieves weren't stupid. They'd grasped much of the truth right from the start and had uncovered the rest in quick succession. He'd already seen something like sympathy on their faces each time they'd spoken with Madarame's Shadow within the Palace, but he was not in any sort of mood for it today.

  
Even without the shock of a first encounter, the Sayuris still had an effect on him. The shame of what he'd allowed to be done to him, willingly, _gladly,_ kept him rooted to the floor, struggling to keep himself together. He stationed himself just within the entrance, and the other Thieves, preoccupied with the fantastical appearance of the gallery, left him behind as they approached the paintings.

  
All but Ryuji. He trailed behind Akira, Ann and Morgana, close enough to be included in their conversation but far enough behind to keep Yusuke within his line of sight, and despite his skull mask, his expression was clear. More sympathy. Just what he'd hoped to avoid.

  
But it wasn't only that. The way he stood said more. Most of his weight was on his uninjured leg, and he kept his right hand jammed into his zip pocket, playing with something inside, while the other hand kept his pipe balanced over his shoulder. The Thieves wandered further inside, pointing at this, discussing that, but Ryuji slowed further until he finally stopped to lean against the entryway to a hallway within the gallery. Ryuji kept his face turned towards the others, attentive to their progress inside, but his eyes were on him.

  
Ryuji understood, and he'd wait for him until he was ready to continue. Ryuji's body language communicated that he was prepared to wait for as long as Yusuke needed him to.

  
Yusuke finally gathered himself enough to catch up, and when he passed him, Ryuji did not speak. He seemed to be painfully aware of Akira, especially, and moved cautiously to avoid drawing attention. But when Yusuke drew level, Ryuji took his right hand out of his pocket and touched his shoulder. Then trailed it lower, down the length of Yusuke's entire arm, and gripped his wrist, where his sleeve narrowed. Ryuji found his hand, squeezed his fingers, and then let them go in a single motion.

  
They rejoined the others. The other Thieves remained sympathetic to how he might be feeling, but they also needed to uncover Sayuri after Sayuri in order to continue forward, and it was hard. More than once, he caught himself trailing behind, trapped in his thoughts as if the golden haze of the gallery was slowing him like syrup. But every time he looked up, Ryuji was there, waiting patiently for him, just as he had been in the first dream he'd had of him. The one that had inspired him to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 99.5k and we have finally gotten to handholding asdlkfjsdlk


	19. False Idol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the tags have changed.

He'd thought he could do it, now.

  
Akira was the same as always. Just a zippy black shape ahead of him in the halls of the museum as they all hustled from exhibit rooms to back passageways to security offices. And Akira'd kept his hands to himself, this time. No more pickpocketing. Not even a hand on his shoulder.

  
At first Ryuji'd kept his shit together. He'd actually kept his eyes to himself, or glued to the Shadows, at least, and he got his hits in. Couple good ones, too, and the way Ann and Yusuke cheered him on when he got the Shadows down on the floor made that stupid, needy little part of him deep in his gut soar high for a minute or two each time. It was nice.

  
The cat and Akira cheered him on too, but he did his best to ignore them.

  
Actually, Akira was a little easier to ignore this time. He looked the same, and nothing had changed between them, really, but somehow the bullshit had receded. Like Akira treating him just the same as the others finally convinced his brain to chill the fuck out.

  
He was going to come out the other side of this. He'd done it before, and he'd do it again.

  
But the fights added up. The walls he'd put up got worn back down by the few hits he did take, here and there, and the bullshit came back like a toothache. He realized he was smiling at the thought of it.

  
Why'd he think today was going to be any different? The bullshit followed him around, of course, but a lot of it had to live in the museum by now. He'd tracked it in.

  
At first it was only during the slower fights, the ones where the Shadows looked at them and they all just looked back, thinking shit out. With some of them you had to get sort of tactical, or whatever, and while Akira sorted through all of his Personas, the Shadows put up their guard, caught their breath, and figured out their own next move. It was usually the magic ones that slowed things down like that. The smart ones. Those ones liked the breather because they could use the spare time to come up with catty shit to throw at them. Like both sides were just doing some kinda skit for each other's amusement, not a life or death thing.

  
Having time to think was exactly what he didn't need. These slowed down fights gave him the time to dredge up all the shit that was getting to him, just like Akira sorting through all of his Personas.

  
Last time in, when Akira'd benched him, it had been Akira himself. His ass, his hands. His hair, his shoulders. All that dumb surface shit. He'd been too wrapped up in that to focus, and he'd blown his chance to get his hits in over and over - and the Shadows had just let him fly on by, too. Live and let live, apparently.

  
The bullshit had ramped up pretty good in the days since then. For a while it'd been not just the way Akira looked but the way he talked. Winked. Not just Joker, or the Akira that lived inside the museum, the one he pulled out when he'd gotten good and comfortable in his corner next to the women's washroom, but Real Akira, too. It went from tagteaming a lady Shadow, het porn bullshit - no touching, no _talking,_ even - to fucking _kissing._ He wanted Akira to hold him down and jackhammer him, and he wanted Akira to be sweet to him and make out with him, even in a place where they could be seen, and at that point there was just no fucking end to it. He was hopeless.

  
Now the bullshit had pulled back from Akira himself. He'd have found it sort of interesting if, even now, it wasn't also making him have to scramble to get his belts down into place after every goddamn hit, whether it connected or not.

  
The slower fights gave him time to twist himself up over it, and there were enough of those that he got bad. He got bad enough that even the quicker fights - the ones with the beast things that tried to get you up against the wall so they could hook their claws in your guts - couldn't keep his attention. He took hits, and he got healed, and he looped his pipe wide, whistling it past his target again and again. He wasted ammo, and he tried to send out his lightning, but apparently Captain Kidd had given up on him. He couldn't even keep focus for the whole handful of seconds it took to summon your Persona, so he was left with what he could get his hands on.

  
He got sick of trying, so eventually he just hung his head low and took his licks. Every hit he took was one the other Thieves didn't have to, so he let them find their mark. At least he could do that.

  
It wasn't what Akira looked like, now, or what Akira could do to him. As far as fucking went, anyway. Now it was about what Akira could do him in a more lasting way.

  
Maybe when he got benched this time, it'd have an 'and don't bother coming back' tacked on.

  
Thinking of Akira kicking him off the team made him fight worse, of course. The worse he did, the more he thought about it. His body didn't move the way he wanted it to, but his brain was quicker than ever to make up for it. If picturing Akira kicking his ass out the door and taking him off the team for good started to wear out, the bullshit just picked up something else.

  
Ann was ashamed he was her first experience, and now Yusuke was too.

  
He kept on running through the museum halls, and crouching down behind corners, and scrambling up to the tall cabinets as best he could. He took hits, and he got his ass knocked down, and he got back up again. The whole time, his cock was doing its own thing, going half hard, full hard, soft, over and over. Getting fucking raring to go over all the sad shit his brain could pull up. Chafing against his impractical fucking suit.

  
If the others saw it, they didn't say. His suit was black, and he kept his belts as low as he could, and the lighting was bad, but...

  
Yusuke'd seen it before, of course, so he figured it was less of a big deal if he saw it today. It wasn't like he _wanted_ him to, not the way he was now, but it wouldn't be anything _new._ Yusuke'd seen him like this enough to get sick of it, to get sick of all of his shit, and thinking about the way he'd burned through that friendship or relationship or whatever it could've been before he'd fucked it all up, before it could even get off the ground, didn't exactly help things.

  
He was _so_ sick of this shit.

  
Thinking of Yusuke called up how he'd been thinking of him in the shower yesterday, actually, when it had finally occurred to him that he was using him.

  
When he was feeling good he liked to think that he was a decent enough guy. He tried to be. He could be nice. But if it had taken him that long just to think of how Yusuke must've felt while he was fucking around with his feelings, then that kinda called things into question. Kinda makes you doubt how nice a guy you really are if you can just...

  
He really _hadn't_ thought of Akira the whole time he'd been on the phone with Yusuke the other night, though. There was that. He hadn't lied. But he'd gotten off to Yusuke's voice. He'd used him to finish what Akira had started - what his own broken fucking brain had started, anyway - and it hadn't even occurred to him to feel bad until morning.

  
Nice guy for sure.

  
A tengu thing was coming at him, fist raised, and he let it. He took the hit, and the pain fuzzed things smooth for a whole minute, until he came back to himself and his brain picked things right back up again.

  
But maybe the Shadow had knocked some sense into him. He laughed to himself at the idea, too loud, and right out in front of the others in the middle of a fight, but whatever. Who cares.

  
He'd remembered the other thing from the shower. The sheets thing. It had helped once. Maybe it'd help again.

  
He still had to hang onto his pipe, so he couldn't act it out with his hands, but that was okay. His eyes were more of a problem. All he had to look at in front of him was the tengu that was busy going for his throat, and on either side, the team. And Akira, Ann and Yusuke each had their own nasty playlist queued up in his head.

  
Had he seriously managed to fuck things up with his _entire_ team? It was almost impressive. The cat was the only one he hadn't either gotten off or wished he had. It was just his personality that was the problem, with Morgana, and the feeling was mutual. The fact that that was so much better than how things were with the others made him smile a bitter smile again.

  
This shit kept interrupting him. He looked at the glossy museum floor, as the fight went on all around him, and thought of his bed.

  
He'd always gone over to Ann's, that summer a couple years back, and Yusuke'd never hooked up with him outside the museum.

  
The bullshit seized on that, too, but he exhaled sharply, sucked in another quick breath, and shut it down before it could start down that road again. He closed his eyes. He didn't need to see the tengu coming to know he was going to take the hit, anyway.

  
So in his head, he pictured his bed. As for Akira, he'd never had him over to his apartment, but he'd definitely pictured him in his bed enough times to -

  
He shut that down, too.

  
All in all, his bed was as close to neutral territory as there was going to be, given the circumstances. Leblanc and school were associated with Akira, and the museum with Yusuke. So he thought of his two hands on his bed, splayed out like he was standing and leaning out over it, and he pictured himself grabbing up as much of the fabric of his sheets as he could. He clenched his fists, tight tight tight, until his knuckles hurt and went white.

  
The tengu got him again, but it was just a graze on his shoulder. His eyes flew open, but he kept his feet under him and just skidded a bit. He closed his eyes again.

  
He pictured himself letting go of the fabric - a crazy pile of folds and creases, now - and immediately smoothed it all flat with his palms. It had looked pretty bad, a second ago, like a jumbled mess, but if you kept at it long enough you could get it all nice and smooth again. Like it was fresh. He went at it for a good thirty seconds in his head, left hand, right hand, until there wasn't a single fold.

  
In his head, he straightened up beside his bed and pulled the covers flat over the sheets. In the museum, he stood up straight and pulled in one long, slow breath. Let it out. Then pulled in another.

  
He couldn't look to his left, and he couldn't look to his right. He'd managed to disappoint every person on his team. But the tengu was dead ahead, and it was looking pretty shitkicked. Limping. Yusuke or Akira'd gotten it bleeding, and Ann had left some scorch marks on its white mask.

  
He saw his chance. He hefted his pipe and went in, and this time, it was perfect. The satisfaction of that sickening crack, that thud that travelled all the way up his arm, was so good that he closed his eyes again, trying to memorize it for later. The tengu went down, and Ann and Yusuke said something nice. He heard the same relief in their voices that he felt.

  
Akira slapped him on the back.

  
\----------

  
Ryuji got his hits in, and he was even able to get his head together enough to start avoiding the Shadows' hits again, too. Yeah, it was only the ones from the Shadows that really telegraphed what they were doing - his body was still slower than usual, heavier, so the quick ones still got him good - but it was a start.

  
They found a brand new safe room and piled in. Ann and Morgana on the table, Yusuke against the wall, and Akira in a chair. His dick had been good for at least half an hour, and it was such a nice feeling that he felt chatty for a change.

  
He squatted low, sighing as his muscles stretched, and hugged the top of the table a foot or two away from Ann. "You guys doin' okay?"

  
They'd carried him for a long time, both this infiltration and the last one, too, so he searched their faces for resentment. Signs that one of them had gotten a good look at him after all and knew what was up, maybe. But there were none. Home free.

  
Ann stuck her gloved hand up under her sweaty bangs to lift them off her forehead and blew out a sigh. "Yeah. Got sorta scary in the middle there, huh?"

  
He kept checking her face, but it didn't sound like she meant anything by it. Just a passing thought, maybe. "Yeah. Kinda. We're gettin' pretty far in, though." He gestured with his chin over at Yusuke, off by himself in the corner. Just leaning his ass against the wall, like usual, with that deadpan face, like usual. "You okay? Fox?"

  
Yusuke ran his fingers over a couple slices in the sleeve of his suit. One of the times the Shadows had gone for somebody other than him. He could see dark blood beneath the fabric, black in the low light, though he knew Yusuke was all healed up. "Yes. I'm fine."

  
He hadn't really meant how he was doing _physically,_ exactly, after seeing how Yusuke'd looked in the gallery with all the fake woman paintings, but it wasn't the kinda thing you just pointed out in front of everybody. He kept his mouth shut and looked away.

  
Akira spoke up from the other end of the table, and it made his gut swoop low. Here it was. He hadn't made it after all. "How're you doing, Skull?"

  
Big fake fucking smile. He felt like throwing up. "'m okay. Doin' alright, now."

  
Akira said nothing.

  
"Sorry I shit the bed. Earlier. But it's comin' back to me." Akira's face was too uncomfortable to keep his eyes on for long so he looked up at Ann, pleading with her to say something.

  
She got what he wanted right away and piped up. They always bitched at each other, petty snarky shit, but she was a bro when he really needed her. "Yeah! Those last couple were toast in like, a minute."

  
But she left her eyes on him for a second too long, and - fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. She knew something too. Or suspected. Akira and Ann were both staring at him now, just letting the silence spool out, and he couldn't do it. His skin was crawling. He dropped his head down onto his folded arms and burrowed in until his mask hurt his face.

  
Morgana never knew when to shut his fucking yap. "Skull better keep up, or we'll leave him behind!"

  
He left his face where it was and said nothing.

  
Akira shifted down at the end of the table, did something that made his leathery coat rustle faintly, and cleared his throat. "Ready to get back to it?"

  
Akira must have been addressing everyone, because he heard Morgana and Ann tell him they were ready. Yusuke was keeping real quiet, over there by the wall, but maybe he'd nodded or something. By the time Ryuji looked up and got to his feet from squatting on the floor, Akira was looking straight at him.

  
"Skull, can I talk to you for a minute?"

  
\----------

  
Yusuke, Morgana and Ann filed out after Akira told them to stick close. Ann shut the door behind her with a click, and then that was it. They were alone.

  
He was getting fucking benched again. He felt it coming. Last infiltration had been just like this. Pulled aside, like Akira was a teacher or some shit. Told in private instead of in front of the others, like he needed to be treated differently. Like the others could handle being told straight, but with him, Akira had to be nice. Fake nice.

  
He didn't want nice. He didn't want the act, the - the fucking _pretense._ Not even if this was being benched permanently. Off the team. If it was over, if he was kicked to the curb, he wanted it to be fucking done. No more messages from Akira late at night, the ones he wasn't allowed to ignore. No more Metaverse, no more Phantom Thieves, but no more gnawing fucking anxiety, either. From this corner of his life, at least. Akira wasn't the cause of his problem, but it sure as shit used him like they were a match made in heaven.

  
If it wasn't how Akira looked, it was what he could do to him.

  
His heart was going to vibrate right out of his chest. Ryuji stood next to the table, fists clenched, pouring sweat, and Akira stood on the other side, not a hair out of place. Looking at him.

  
His brain was just screaming. You wanted to talk to me so just fucking _talk -_

  
And his mouth wanted to run on, and on, and on, but he clenched his teeth and kept quiet. Akira tried to wait him out, but this time, he was determined to keep his trap shut.

  
The silence went on for _minutes._ It had to be minutes.

  
Finally. Akira shuffled his feet, took his mask off and laid it on the table. He did the same.

  
Akira touched the side of his own face. "That looks like it hurts."

  
He copied him and felt some flakes of dried blood lift off. There was just smooth skin underneath it, though. "Huh? Oh. Nah. Healed up."

  
Akira knew how things worked in here. He wouldn't bring up an already healed cut unless it was supposed to mean something else.

  
His gut felt like he'd swallowed a bunch of rocks.

  
Akira got around the table and stopped, maybe five feet away. Still staring at his face, pinning him to the spot. "You okay? Today?"

  
He'd already fucking _answered_ that. Akira'd already asked him how he was doing when everybody else was around, so what did he expect to hear now that they were alone?

  
He stood his ground. "Yeah. Doin' better." He straightened up and clenched his fists, then realized what that probably looked like and made himself relax his hands. Akira got closer, a step or two nearer, and his hands went right back to fists again.

  
Of course his dick fucking loved it. He'd finally gotten it to go to sleep and stay asleep for the last half hour, but no such luck now. It was doing its best to fill out the front of his suit, so he quickly shifted his belts lower. At least he had _that._

  
"You sure?" Akira smiled. A nice smile. Like he was ready to hear all about it.

  
Akira had eyes. Akira _had_ to have seen the difference between how things had gone before he'd figured out the sheets thing and after. The difference between passing up the chance to get a hit in over and over, instead just soaking up damage for the team, and - and being _useful_ again. After the sheets thing he'd gotten his hands to cooperate again, and his brain, too, well enough to arc out lightning in blue-white threads. Captain Kidd had shown up again, a solid and comforting presence at his back like he always was, and Ryuji'd gone back to feeling like he could make a difference for his team.

  
He stood tall again. Shoulders straight, head lifted up. Forced his voice to be clear and sure. "Yeah. I'm good, man. Thanks."

  
This had to be leading up to Akira benching him, this time for good. There wasn't anything else it could be. Akira was real focused on his performance, and the only reason Akira hadn't already just gotten it over with was because he was being nice. He was trying to soften the blow as best he could.

  
This was it. He'd managed to wipe out the track team singlehandedly, and now he was off of this one, too. Why did he think this time would be any different? He was still _him._ Still grade A fuckup material.

  
Tough break, buddy. See you at school, Ryuji.

  
Akira got closer still, so he backed up to give him room. Akira kept fucking coming - the fuck was he _doing_ \- so he backed up, and backed up, until his ass hit the wall.

  
Akira kept coming.

  
"H-hey - what're you - "

  
Akira got him up against the wall, close, too close, and suddenly it was like _the_ wall. The fucked up thing with Yusuke, the dream that was real, somehow, the thing where Yusuke wouldn't talk, _couldn't_ talk, couldn't say yes but somehow he _had,_ he'd said he had, at least, and Akira had that fucking smirk, Akira had that face he was always trying so hard not to think of unless he was in his corner -

  
His cock was just absolutely fucking throbbing.

  
Akira sent his voice low, not much above a whisper, and now he was close enough for Ryuji to see his pupils. They were fucking huge. "You sure you've been doing better?"

 

The fuck was this.

 

"Yeah. I have been. Doin' better," he got out. He'd say it again and again as many times as it took. It was true. He knew it was. He'd pulled his own weight for the last half dozen fights, and Akira wasn't going to fucking talk him out of it no matter how hard he tried.

  
But it didn't matter how well _he_ thought he'd done. It was up to Akira.

  
Here it comes. The axe. He was off the team. Here it comes, here it comes -

  
Akira got closer.

  
The belts were still there. He could feel them pressing down on him, heavy and reassuring. A barrier. Akira wasn't looking there, though. He was boring holes into him with his eyes. His grey, moody eyes with the long lashes that he normally hid behind his big dorky glasses, out there, or behind his white Joker mask, in here.

  
Why were his pupils so big?

  
Akira got so close that his face was all he could see, and now Akira had one forearm on the wall behind him. There were only a few inches between Akira's body and his.

  
He pictured himself barking something right in Akira's face - 'fuck off' felt about right - at top volume. He pictured himself shoving him, hard, hard as he fucking could, until Akira stumbled back into the table behind him, or one of the chairs around it. Maybe he'd finally look clumsy for once. Maybe Akira'd trip over his own feet, or the tails of his long flappy coat, and he'd fall on his ass.

  
But he didn't shout at him, and he didn't shove him, either.

  
Before he could figure anything out, Akira pressed himself close. Too close. Akira pressed the front of his body to his, chest to chest, hip to hip, and it was worse than anything his own brain had bothered to come up with so far.

  
His brain had pictured getting kicked off the train, kicked out of school, kicked off the team, but it had never been creative enough to picture him getting found out by being pressed right up against Akira. Not seen but _felt._

  
Was Akira seriously fucking hugging him? _Now?_

  
But the belts were still there. He had to believe they were still where he wanted them to be. He had to, because there was no way he could check.

  
He felt like a bug under a cup. Akira had him fucking paralyzed. Eyes wide open, mouth open, too, but it felt like his throat had closed up. He couldn't say a word.

  
Akira pulled back, just enough that Ryuji could see his face again, and then Akira let his eyes fall half shut, and then he wet his lips, and -

  
Oh fuck. _Fuck._ Either this bullshit really did make you hallucinate, or Akira was going to -

 

But he was with Yusuke. Maybe. Or he was, before he'd fucked it all up. Or he wanted to be.

  
If Akira kissed him, did that mean -

  
But it wasn't like they were dating. Him and Yusuke. He'd asked Yusuke out yesterday and Yusuke hadn't even bothered to say maybe tomorrow, or thanks, anyway. It was just no. Yusuke'd left all his messages unanswered, and he -

  
But he'd also grabbed his hand in the last safe room. Yusuke had. When he knew he needed it. Did that mean -

  
Even as Akira brought his face closer and closer, Akira moved his hand, too, and it was almost too fast for Ryuji to register what he'd done. He left one arm braced against the wall beside Ryuji's head, and he used the other hand to - fuck - Akira shoved down the crisscrossed ammo belts, the only barrier, until they'd trapped his legs together, and then he - Akira -

  
Chest to chest, hip to hip, and this time his cock was pressed right into him. Right into Akira's flat belly.

  
Here it comes. He was off the team. Here it comes. Akira was going to kiss him.

  
Akira had to have felt it. There was no way he didn't. But he didn't bat an eye. He brought his face closer, and -

  
Ryuji shut his eyes and let it happen.

  
He was such a piece of shit.

  
But it didn't happen. He felt Akira's breath tickle his face, then his neck, and then his ear, as he whispered. His voice made him sound like he was smirking again.

  
"You better get your shit together, huh?"

  
Or what? Or fucking _what?_

  
Akira got off of him. He stepped back and straightened his vest. His red gloves. He really was smirking, but then he picked up his mask again and put it on, and the smirk faded.

  
Akira's pants were a lot looser than his suit. Honestly, Akira's Thief outfit was probably the most practical out of all of theirs. It gave him room to move instead of being made of the tight, slippery plasticky shit that he, Ann and Yusuke were stuck with.

  
But his pants weren't so loose that Akira didn't give him a real good look at the outline of his dick through them as he adjusted himself until he was decent again. When they were pressed together, Akira must've kept his hips angled just far enough away that it couldn't be felt. But now he just looked at him, giving Yusuke's deadpan face a run for its money, as he got himself all tucked away again.

  
After all, the infiltration wasn't over yet. They were going to go back out there and continue this fucking nightmare for however long it took to get to the next safe room. Maybe the next one after that. He was going to have to fucking fight next to Akira, and take hits, and fight next to Ann, and pretend things were okay.

  
He was going to have to try to look Yusuke in the eye.

  
He wished Akira'd benched him after all.

  
Akira walked over to the door like nothing had happened, then turned to talk to him one more time, his hand on the knob. "Come out when you're ready. We'll wait."

  
Akira left.


	20. Bad Faith

"Guess I'll go back to waiting _outside,"_ Morgana grumbled. "I'm still too tired out to heal. It's all on you, Panther!" He waved goodbye to the two of them and sprinted back the way they'd come, making for the parking lot outside via the route they'd already cleared.

  
Yusuke and Ann settled in at opposite corners of the short corridor that led to the safe room, trying to give Akira and Ryuji as much privacy as possible without exposing their position to Shadows.

  
She kept her voice low. "You, um. D'you know what this is about?" She gestured with her chin at the door to the safe room.

  
Of course he'd noticed how dismally Ryuji had performed for almost the entire infiltration. There was no ignoring it when he had slowed their progress so dramatically. But that didn't mean that that was what Ryuji and Akira were discussing, so he shook his head.

  
Ann studied his face carefully, then abruptly got to her feet and crossed the few feet of corridor that separated them. She lowered herself to the floor beside him, only a foot or two away, and made herself comfortable. He leaned away automatically, then reconsidered and adjusted his position back to the way he'd been.

  
When he'd first laid eyes on Ann, he'd embarrassed himself, he now knew. It wasn't appropriate to behave the way he had, like a hopelessly starstruck fan. As though he wouldn't take no for an answer. But getting to know her better had granted him some immunity to her beauty, and he was able to see the person beneath. Ann wouldn't want him to treat her differently than he would any of the others.

  
She turned to face him, brightly inquisitive, though she still kept her voice low. "So are you guys... close? You and Skull?"

  
There were a lot of ways to answer that question. But he and Ryuji had undoubtedly become much closer than they had been just a week ago, so after a moment's thought he nodded. "I suppose."

  
Ann rolled her eyes. Apparently that was not the answer she'd been looking for. "I mean are you _dating."_

  
That was even more difficult to answer. Every sign to the contrary was matched with one that hinted at more between him and Ryuji, and he couldn't decide what it all added up to. "Not at this time?"

  
He hadn't intended for that to come out sounding like a question. He felt his face grow warm.

  
She wore an impish expression now. Knowing. "He moves fast, huh? He was like that with me, too."

  
There were so many things he wanted to pick apart in that statement that he was left speechless. He gaped at her.

  
"Couple years ago. We were involved, I guess."

  
He marvelled at her comfort with him. They'd only known each other for a few short weeks, but she felt comfortable enough to confess something this personal to him - and she didn't even look embarrassed to do it. In fact she wore a small smile below her feline mask, as if recalling a fond memory.

  
Of course, that level of comfort seemed to describe Ann to a tee. The reason he enjoyed framing Ann and Ryuji's composition when they were close to one another was the contrast they made. Ann's curves to his jutting limbs, and her serenity to his nervous energy. And Ann was comfortable in her own skin, even as she sat next to him, Yusuke, the person who had demanded she strip nude for him back when they'd still been strangers.

  
He felt a warmth for her in his chest to match his face. Ann was his friend. One of the first he'd ever had.

  
She seemed to be waiting for a response. "The two of you were... close? Then?" he asked. He barely understood what she meant by that, but he also couldn't even begin to guess at which words were considered appropriate to ask for clarification in this situation.

  
She twisted her mouth, as if to begrudgingly admit the limitations of the euphemism they'd just settled on. "Physical stuff only," she finally declared. "You know."

  
He really _didn't_ know. He could only guess, but he wasn't about to do so out loud. "Do the two of you - "

  
"No! No," she said quickly. "Not anymore. Not for years. I just - I just wanted to. Like. Full disclosure, or whatever. It seemed like a good idea."

  
The thought of the two of them having experience with one another was starting to sink in, and somehow he found that it didn't effect him the way that listening to Ryuji obsess over Akira did. Ryuji and Ann had obvious chemistry, but he had no reason to believe Ryuji held any lasting feelings for her now.

  
After the way the Sayuri gallery had effected him, and after worrying over Ryuji for the hours they'd been inside the Palace, it felt surprisingly pleasant to talk to Ann one on one like this. He relaxed from the tense posture he'd held ever since he'd sat down on the floor, with his knees drawn up and his back hunched, and instead stretched out his legs straight in front of him. He leaned his head against the wall behind him and heard Ann shift into a similar position at his side, the synthetic material of her tight suit creaking against the floor and itself.

  
Ann made him feel unusually talkative, in fact. "Skull and I have been spending a lot of time together, I suppose."

  
"Yeah? Art stuff, right? Posing?"

  
Social interactions left him baffled much of the time, but even he knew that question called for a lie. Ryuji would never forgive him if he told Ann the truth, so he settled for a half-truth, just as he had in their group chat yesterday. "Yes. Skull has been helping me with my art."

  
In the periphery of his vision, he could see her fold her gloved hands in her lap. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of teasing laughter in her voice. "He must like you a lot. I don't think he'd even pretend to give a shit about art for anybody else."

  
"I don't know about that." It sounded like a deflection, but it was only the most literal statement of fact. He didn't know.

  
Something about her demeanour shifted. Her mood. He couldn't put his finger on it until he heard her speak. "If - if you guys are spending so much time together, maybe you'd know." She sounded quite serious, suddenly.

  
"Mm." He waited.

  
"Has he been weird? Around you?"

  
What he considered weird and what Ann considered weird were likely very different, and what might be considered weird behaviour for Ryuji could have been a third category altogether. "You will need to be more specific."

  
She fell silent, a space of time that was filled only with the sound of their breathing, and he turned to face her. Instead of facing him, though, Ann was watching the safe room door.

  
Her voice was even quieter now. A harried whisper as her words tumbled out of her, urgent and clipped. "Joker and I think - I mean, Joker told me that - he _thinks_ that Skull is maybe on something. I guess. Or he knows he is. Like - "

  
"On - ?"

  
"You know. Drugs," she said. She showed him her face, and he finally realized she was desperately unhappy. Her comfort around him and her teasing tone had only been an act, or perhaps a respite she'd allowed herself before broaching the subject she'd wanted to talk to him about all along.

  
He shook his head firmly. "Never. Not once."

  
She wasn't convinced. "Yeah, but he could just be doing it when you're not there. Right?"

  
"What has Joker so convinced that Skull is... addicted?"

  
She listed points mechanically, as if reading from a list. "He's never in the group chat anymore, and he won't answer Joker's messages either, half the time. That's weird, for him. Joker says so, anyway. And Joker keeps asking him to do stuff with him, after school or in the evenings, I guess, but he's always busy. That's what he says. Just... busy. Skull never even has a - a cover story."

  
He felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. This was Ryuji's infatuation with Akira at play, or his problem, or both.

  
She went on. "And he looks like _shit._ Right? Like he's not sleeping. Like - his face, I guess. Like, today - _today._ Fox. You can't tell me he's doing okay, today. He's sweating like crazy and he - whatever it is he's on, he can't even get out of the Shadows' way - "

  
"We all sweat, in these outfits," he pointed out, he thought quite reasonably, and lifted his bedraggled hair from the back of his neck as proof.

  
She gave him such a withering look that he regretted having said anything. "Seriously? You don't see _anything_ wrong with how he's been acting lately? Today, especially?"

  
The second he began to formulate any kind of answer that could excuse Ryuji's behaviour, his mind granted him a quick flash of the way Ryuji had hidden his face almost every time he'd needed to explain his problem. If not the way he'd hidden his face, then the way his voice had sounded. Ashamed.

  
Ann seemed to take his silence to indicate that he needed more convincing. "And - and. Sorry to bring this up, if it's. Ugh. If you guys are dating, or like, not _dating,_ but if you're _close,_ then - I guess I have to. I don't want to, but I _should."_

  
He blinked at her and waited for her to go on.

  
She visibly psyched herself up and grimaced, as if she didn't much like the taste of her own words. "Joker found lube in his pocket." Her face had gone quite pink.

  
She seemed to think that was self explanatory, but he was at least a few steps behind. "How did Joker - "

  
"Oh, he just - you know him. He likes to practice shit like that. Sleight of hand or whatever." She shrugged off his question, annoyed that he was missing the point. "Fox, I wouldn't ask, but - like, that wasn't for you and him, right? He wouldn't just hang around the train station with lube in his pocket if he - like, if you and him were gonna go on a _date,_ if - if you and him were gonna hook _up,_ he wouldn't just - Joker said he was _waiting_ for somebody. He said a bunch of trains went by while Skull just... waited, and normally you'd - you'd leave something like that at _home,_ wouldn't you?"

  
He'd already recoiled from her the instant he guessed the direction of her questioning. It was too much. He doubted he could rely on his face to hide the way he was feeling any longer, so he turned to face forward and slouched again, counting on his high collar and mask to hide his face from her view.

  
Ann and Akira thought Ryuji was soliciting himself to pay for the habit they thought he had.

  
"Joker is mistaken," he said, far more forcefully than he'd intended.

  
"You know I don't _want_ to ask, but. Like. _Was_ it for you and him?"

  
He'd never have imagined travelling down this particular line of questioning with Ann, of all people, in a thousand years. But there was also no doubt in his mind that she had the wrong idea. He only had to recall the way Ryuji had confessed his fears with such self-loathing - that he would be discovered in an inappropriate state in public, or that he would be labelled a sex offender - to know how wrong Ann and Akira were. For every time he'd seen Ryuji enjoying his own touch, or his, through his suit, he'd seen him cringing away in shame many more. His problem was a source of misery for him.

  
He also knew that the shame he himself felt threatened to prevent him from speaking entirely. He decided not to answer Ann's question directly.

  
"I have been spending so much time with Skull that my schoolwork and painting alike have suffered. We see one another almost every day after school, and we spent almost all day together on Sunday. And after we part ways, we have been having long chat conversations until it is time to go to sleep."

  
"You're saying that - "

  
"He wouldn't have _time_ to - to - " He refused to speak aloud what Ann was insinuating.

  
"But then why is he - " She cut herself off, glancing again at the closed safe room door. "Anyway. That's... that's what this is. That's what Joker's talking to him about. He said it was better if I didn't bring it up to you, but. I thought you should know."

  
Certain things were beginning to fall into place. "Is this why you didn't want me to say anything, earlier?"

  
He'd begun to interpret her expression as anger, but corrected it to defiance when she spoke again. "Yeah, but I think that was wrong. Joker said we had to keep quiet and let Skull... hit bottom, or whatever. You know. Admit that he had a problem. So I kept my mouth shut, before. But that's wrong. I should've said something."

  
He was getting a better picture of Akira, and the dissonance of it with how he'd thought of him before made his voice uncertain. "So Joker did not want you to say anything to _me_ about Skull's... problem... and he did not want you to say anything to _him..._ "

  
She winced. "Yeah."

  
"Joker legitimately thinks that Skull is addicted to something, and that he is selling - " He refused to put that into words. "But he ordered you to keep silent?"

  
"He didn't - _order_ me to - " she sputtered, indignant. "He just said it'd be better if he - "

  
He cut her off. "If Skull were truly in that kind of situation, don't you think he would want... that he would need... " His inexperience with people was showing. He wasn't at all certain of what the correct course of action would be, if Ryuji were in that situation, but there was a persistent series of images playing in the back of his mind.

  
When Ryuji had realized that Yusuke had been drawing blood to create his redlines, he had purchased him adhesive bandages without ever addressing the reason. A charade to protect Yusuke's pride. And Ryuji had listened to him talk at length about the other pupils, his family, before promising to put an end to the plagiarism.

  
He thought of Ryuji's hand, running down from his shoulder, to his forearm, to his hand, squeezing his fingers before letting him go. He'd stayed close, though, in the Sayuri gallery, in case Yusuke needed him again.

  
Ann was perceptive. She made the last leap and said what he could not. "You're right. He needs us to be supportive."

  
"Yes," he said, gratefully. "Skull told me that he is worried he will be removed from the team."

  
She blinked. "What? We'd never - "

  
"You and I wouldn't. You and I know how how effective he is in battle. How helpful he can be."

  
"Yeah. It kinda seemed like he was getting better all on his own, at the end there." She made a face. "And, yeah. You're right. _We_ wouldn't kick him out, but - like, Joker's said a couple times that - "

  
At that moment, Akira opened the safe room door, and Ann fell silent.

  
"He needs a minute or two," Akira said, simply, as if that explained anything. He settled to the floor on Ann's other side, and they sat without speaking.

  
In perhaps five minutes of awkward silence, Ryuji finally came to the door himself.

  
Over the last few days, Yusuke had seen him laughing both out of genuine happiness and as a mask for more uncomfortable feelings, but right now, even that had been stripped away. Black hopelessness was stamped upon his sweaty, blood-caked face. Ryuji's eyes jittered from Akira, to Ann, to him, then locked onto the floor off to the side.

  
His belts were crossed low across his hips.

  
"You guys got another safe room in you, right? Let's get going," Akira said, standing, and - was he _cheerful?_ He was not smiling, exactly, but his upbeat tone was painfully jarring after everything Yusuke had spoken about with Ann.

  
Ann stood too, abruptly, her heels scraping against the floor. "Skull needs a break," she said firmly. "We still have time before the deadline. Why don't we call it a day." She looked at Yusuke sidelong, as though she were asking for his permission, or perhaps his blessing, so he nodded. The end of the art exhibit downtown was still almost two weeks away, and Ryuji clearly needed rest.

  
But Akira disagreed. "It's just a little cold. Right, Skull?"

  
Ryuji nodded, still avoiding eye contact.

  
Yusuke got to his feet, drew himself fully upright, and declared, "I need a moment to speak with Skull."

  
Ryuji and Akira stared at him, but Ann nodded fervently enough that her blonde hair flew about her face. "Good idea. Joker, let's backtrack a bit. To that security office, maybe." Yusuke did not fail to notice that Akira protested, and even tried to plant his feet for a moment or two as if determined to stay - to eavesdrop, his mind insisted, until he discarded the idea - before Ann managed to drag him away.

  
Ryuji looked terrible. The anguish that surrounded his problem, displayed so nakedly on his face, made Yusuke's breath catch in his throat.

  
"What happened?" he demanded.

  
Ryuji took two unsteady steps backward until he thudded into the wall behind him, then let himself half relax, half collapse into a squatting position, propped up by the wall. "I just... "

  
Yusuke gave him time, but it seemed he wasn't about to finish his sentence. "Skull, they think you are addicted."

  
"It - it kinda is like that, sometimes - "

  
"To some kind of _drug,"_ he hissed. "Joker thinks you are, and - in fact, he told Panther that that was what he was discussing with you within the safe room."

  
He did not feel terribly surprised to see Ryuji shake his head, slowly. He seemed dazed. "Nope. He sure didn't say that to me."

  
"Then what did he say to you?"

  
Even from several feet away, Yusuke could see Ryuji's face cloud with distress. "Joker fuckin'... you wouldn't believe me."

  
He set his mouth in a thin line. Every time he heard 'Akira' or 'Joker' from Ryuji's mouth, he was reminded of what he couldn't have.

  
At first he'd simply accepted it. The way that Ryuji felt for Akira. Seeing Ryuji every day was worth the disappointment, and it was selfish to want for more. And that had held, for a time. But the way his long, late night phone conversation with Ryuji had made him feel had proven that insufficient.

  
After that, he had begun to think of it in the same terms that Ryuji had already introduced himself: the charade surrounding his redline. That the daily incisions to his upper arm that he'd been giving himself had actually been caused by a Shadow each time, and that Ryuji did not know the truth of the matter. A charade out of tact, to protect Yusuke's pride and allow him a way to navigate the topic as he so chose.

  
So, during the infiltration, he'd begun to frame a new charade, one that was strictly for himself. This game of pretend held that Ryuji felt nothing more for Akira than he did for Ann, now. Friendship, but not one iota more.

  
The charade wavered, now and then, if he allowed it to. But it helped.

  
And now he used it once more. He called forth the charade and strengthened it, then put it to its new purpose. He used the charade that Ryuji thought of him and him alone to help Ryuji instead of himself.

  
Yusuke closed the distance and knelt in front of him. "Tell me."

  
Ryuji turned his face into his oversized collar, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. His words came out in disjointed pieces of sentences. "Joker fuckin'... I think he was teasin' me or some shit. He got real close, like we were - fuck, it was like the _wall,_ the, the dream you had, but - I mean it wasn't like that, him and me never - but he said 'you better get your shit together.' Like - like what would _you_ think that means - "

  
He couldn't grasp what Ryuji had told him, but there would be time to work it out later. The last thing he wanted was for Akira and Ann to come back too soon, so he leaned forward until he was speaking directly into Ryuji's face, his voice low and urgent. "Skull. Panther and I have noticed how well you have been doing. You've improved, tonight. But Panther seems to think that Joker is already considering removing you from the team."

  
Ryuji closed his eyes behind his mask and said nothing.

  
They didn't have _time_ for this. He leaned forward even more and grasped Ryuji by the shoulders. "Don't you understand? Clearly you can be effective in battle. I've seen it. But if you can't make a lasting - "

  
"How can I fuckin' go out there _now_ if he's... " Ryuji muttered, trailing off.

  
It really was a charade that Ryuji thought of only him, and not Akira. But suddenly he thought of a way he might give it a helpful nudge. Encourage the charade to be one step closer to reality. "Try. You must try. If you can try, I will cover you as best I can. And - and I will stand between you and him. If that would help you."

  
Think of me, and only me.

  
His words were rooted in nothing but selfishness. But Ryuji's face lit up, even behind his mask. His eyes went wide, and the barest hint of an uncertain smile played across his face. "You'd - ? But Joker might - like, he might not like that very much. Changin' our tactics or whatever." By the time he'd finished speaking, the smile was long gone.

  
"Panther will agree, I'm sure," he said flatly. "She will help make sure that Joker understands."

  
Ryuji looked from Yusuke's hands, still splayed over his shoulders, to his face, as if finally realizing how close they were. "Okay," he sighed, sounding exhausted by their conversation alone. "I'll... try. I got a thing that's been workin' for me, or, like, it _might_ work, so. I think - I think I can do it." But he sounded less than confident.

  
He helped Ryuji to his feet, and they passed through a handful of empty exhibit halls, using only the most perfunctory level of stealth, before happening upon Akira and Ann inside a security office.

Surprisingly enough, Akira agreed to the change in their formation without any opposition, and Yusuke stationed himself between Akira and Ryuji, doing his best to cover Ryuji whenever possible just as the others had done for him when he'd first entered the Palace.

  
It worked.

  
The four of them continued on, battle after battle, and in stages, Ryuji seemed to remember himself. He returned to the level of competence he'd held before Akira had spoken to him in the safe room, dodging all but the fastest Shadows, and then, as the rest of them tired, Ryuji continued improving. His pipe sailed out in sweet, perfect arcs, and his body fairly danced around the Shadows, avoiding their swipes easily, until it almost seemed unfair. Had he thought Ryuji graceful before? This was something else altogether. Yusuke had never seen him fight better.

  
They discovered a new safe room, and even Akira, finally looking a little dishevelled himself, admitted that it was time to go home. When they all reached the skylight leading out of the Palace, Akira slapped Ryuji's back, and Ann did the same, using her other hand to scrub her gloved fingers through his sweaty hair until he half laughed, half growled.

  
While Akira and Ann were dropping down to the parking lot from the roof, Morgana already greeting them eagerly on the ground, Ryuji turned to Yusuke, his features just barely visible by the meagre yellow light spilling from the Palace. Ryuji stood motionless, looking at him for a long moment until he suddenly darted forward, and -

  
Ryuji kissed him. A rough and awkward kiss, thrust at him like a minor act of violence, that landed off-centre, barely making contact with his lips. Their masks clashed together, his own digging into the bridge of his nose, and Yusuke couldn't gather himself in time to react. He could only stand there, arms at his sides and eyes wide open, as Ryuji darted back just as suddenly.

  
"Thanks," Ryuji said, just before he dropped down from the roof to join the others on the ground.


	21. Aesthetics

Ryuji kept as much distance between himself and Akira as he could.

  
It wasn't hard. Now that they were all in the parking lot, it didn't look as though Akira was going to pull any more shit where everybody could see him do it, so Ryuji just hung back while Ann updated Morgana on their progress in the museum.

  
He caught a glimpse of something dark out of the corner of his eye and jerked away, still all pumped up from fighting Shadows. It was only Yusuke, sidling up close, quiet as a ghost.

  
It was weird. He'd only just barely stopped himself from grabbing Yusuke's hand right in front of everybody, like they were out on a date or some shit.

  
Oh. Out on a - "Hey," he muttered, keeping his voice down. "I know - I know you said no already, yesterday, but I wonder if - like, today, would you wanna - "

  
"Aren't you guys coming?" Apparently Akira wasn't done fucking with him after all.

  
Akira always had a talent for knowing just the right thing to say. Ryuji'd seen him use it before to make people feel better, or to get info about the volleyball team from students who hated his guts, or to keep Sakura off his back. Harmless shit like that. But now it seemed ugly. What Akira'd just said would sound fine to Ann and Morgana. They'd both turned to look at him and Yusuke, lagging way behind in the middle of the parking lot while everybody else was ready to hit the Nav and leave. But Ann and Morgana couldn't see Akira's goddamn smirk. He wasn't even trying to hide it.

  
He'd thought Akira's Joker smirk was hot, before. Now it just made him think of Akira trapping him against the wall of the safe room and closing in.

  
Yusuke saw it, though. He turned his head in time to catch the way Yusuke's hands twitched, like he was surprised, maybe, and just that helped. Just the idea that maybe Yusuke'd seen through Akira, too, helped him keep his shit together.

  
"Fox said he wants me to help him paint, tonight," he said, saying it loud enough for all of them to hear it but keeping his eyes on Ann. She was the easiest to face. He even rolled his eyes, a what can you do? sort of thing, like he was just barely able to put up with his shit. Like Yusuke was the one always begging him to spend time with him instead of it being the other way around.

  
Yusuke turned to him, looking confused, and - fuck - "I don't recall saying that."

  
Ann was a bro. "You don't remember?" She was trying to help, but - aw, fuck - she used her dumb as rocks acting voice. Singsong and fake. "I heard you guys talking about it way back on the traaain. _Remember?"_

  
"Aren't you guys tired?!" Morgana asked, and - and he'd never kick a cat, but Morgana wasn't a cat, so - "I'm _always_ tired when we get out of the Metaverse."

  
Akira kept smirking, like it was all just entertainment to him.

  
Yusuke held his chin, thinking, and it looked like he'd finally figured it out. "I suppose I could make you my subject, tonight. I'd prefer a dynamic pose, but if you are too tired, you need only lay there. I will do the rest."

  
Ann tried. She really fucking tried. He had to give her that. But she could only hold out for like three seconds before she was shrieking laughter. She stumbled to the edge of the parking lot, well away from him and Yusuke, and got her thumb on the Nav before Akira and Morgana could ask any more questions. The three of them wavered out like a heat mirage, one last helpless giggle of Ann's cut right in half as she went.

  
It felt too quiet after they left. Yusuke was still just standing there, staring at him.

  
"Man, you're lucky you're hot," he muttered.

  
Maybe Yusuke'd figured it out, though, by now. He propped his katana up against one of the nearby ugly cars and then leaned his ass against it, crossing both his arms and his ankles. He kept quiet, too, like he could wait all fucking night.

  
He filled the silence, like he always did. "You really saved my ass. Thanks."

  
Deadpan voice to match his deadpan face. "You've said that twice, now."

  
"Yeah, well. Maybe I fuckin' mean it twice. At _least_ twice. More 'n twice."

  
"Is this why you've kept me here? To talk?" Yusuke took off his mask and set it down on the hood of the boxy, fakeass car.

  
"I - I mean, yeah. Guess so. I mean, really, I was gonna ask you if... " He was already automatically taking off his own mask and tossing it to the ground. It was funny. You could talk just fine with your mask on - his didn't cover his mouth, and neither did Yusuke's - but it felt easier without it.

  
He could've just fucking asked him. He already had, yesterday, and he'd almost done it again while the parking lot still had three other people in it. But now that he had Yusuke staring at him, just waiting for him to spit it out, it was hard to do it again.

  
He had a more immediate concern, anyway. Something he was so used to that he'd let it sneak up on him. He switched tracks. "My leg's givin' me a hard time right now," he blurted out.

  
If Yusuke thought that was a weird way to finish the sentence he'd started, he didn't say so. Just eyed his leg through his suit, like he had xray vision or something. "I've overheard the others discuss an injury of yours, but I've never been told what it was."

  
That was shit for another time. "Broke my leg last year," he said shortly. "I just gotta get off it."

  
Luckily, there was a good spot to sit right in front of them. He picked up his pipe, judged the distance carefully, and crunched it through the driver's seat window of one of the four-doors parked in the parking lot on the first try.

  
Yusuke just watched him do it, not even flinching.

  
"You'd be a good accomplice one day, man." He reached inside to unlock the back seat window since the front seat was all covered in glass.

  
"Petty theft seems a vulgar way to make one's living."

  
"Sez the phantom thief." He opened the door, a little surprised at the interior light that came on at the same time, and held the door open for Yusuke to get inside first, like he was being all chivalrous. If it was even still called chivalry when you did it to another dude. He got in after him, leaving the door open so more of the cool night air could get in. "Besides. Thought you liked vulgar."

  
Heh. Yusuke couldn't argue with him on that one. He just huffed, all haughty and proud, as he crawled awkwardly into the car. Bumped his head on the roof, too.

  
It felt good to have something to laugh about. Even if it wasn't really _worth_ laughing about. Yusuke sent him a good scowl as he got in after him, too, and that just made him laugh harder.

  
Yusuke made as much room as he could, but the way his knees jutted out to either side, spread far apart, meant that Ryuji had to sit turned away, facing out the open door, to get his leg out straight. He wound up just leaving his heel on the pavement. Felt a lot better like this. So did the cool breeze on his sweaty face and hair.

  
He stared out at the museum at the other side of the parking lot, ugly though it was, and felt his heartbeat finally get down to where it was supposed to be. He'd gotten through it. The infiltration had started going south just like the last one, and the thing with Akira'd made it even worse, but Yusuke'd been on his side. Yusuke'd covered him like he was new to all this shit, and he'd blocked his view of Akira, too. Thanks to Yusuke's help, he'd gotten through it.

  
It made him realize how deep down the hole he was. All the hours, or what felt like hours, that he'd spent inside the museum had been focused square on either himself or on Akira. Yusuke'd had a shitty time just dragging himself through the gallery with all the fake woman paintings, but all he'd done so far was hold Yusuke's hand and then depend on his help for the rest of the infiltration.

  
It wasn't enough. He wanted to do better. He spoke directly to the empty parking lot in front of him, lit a warm white by the interior light behind him. "You doin' okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

  
"Panther healed me before she left," Yusuke said from behind him, and he could tell something was up without even looking. Yusuke's voice was wrong.

  
"Maybe I didn't mean your arm or whatever."

  
"I am... " He heard a rustling noise. Yusuke must've been fidgeting or something. "I... "

  
"You're what?"

  
The seat shifted like Yusuke was moving, and suddenly he was right behind him, pressed to Ryuji's back with the point of his chin on his shoulder. Yusuke snaked his arm out in front of him, just like he'd done at the statue before, and pulled it close around his middle.

  
Yusuke probably didn't know what to say either, so he was just hugging him. Sort of. Ryuji let himself relax against him, then rested his gloved hand on Yusuke's, both of them on top of his ammo belts. "You okay?" he asked again, quieter still.

  
Yusuke kept him waiting for a long minute or two. Apparently that wasn't an easy question. He finally sighed through his nose and answered, his voice deep and slow. "What did Joker need to discuss with you within the safe room?"

  
Yusuke sounded like he didn't really want to know the answer.

  
Straight to the fun shit, huh. "I already told you." But he couldn't put too much heat into it. If he was Yusuke he'd probably have asked a lot less nicely than that.

  
"You told me that he teased you, and that it was like what happened in my dream. The one in which you paid me a visit, late at night."

  
Yusuke sounded so sad.

  
For fuck's sake. Had Yusuke seriously thought all this time that he'd fucked around with Akira in the safe room while him and Ann waited right outside? Yusuke'd thought that and then gone ahead and given him a pep talk? And then covered him in battle?

  
Yusuke'd thought all that and then let him kiss him, up on the roof?

  
"Fox, he - I don't mean _nice_ -teased. Not - not joking-teasing. He fucking - he was nasty to me. He - he was shovin' the - the way I was in my face."

  
But even as he said the words out loud, they felt less and less concrete. The way he'd felt pressed between Akira and the wall in the safe room, and the way he'd felt pressed between Yusuke and the wall of the museum late on Sunday night, sounded the same but felt completely different. But Akira'd barely said any more than Yusuke had, so he had nothing to pin down. He tried to get it all out into words before it slipped through his fingers. "He - he kept asking how I was doin', like, my fighting or whatever, and I'd say I was doin' better, but then he'd ask again n' again. Like he didn't believe me. N' he fuckin' _cornered_ me, n' then he - he said I better get my shit together. While he had his fuckin' - his fuckin' _everything_ pressed up against me."

  
He let all that sit out in the air for a minute, and then spat, "It felt like a fuckin'... threat."

 

But he could've gotten it wrong. He could've gotten it completely backwards. Maybe that was a _hug._ Maybe that really was all just Akira's way of checking on his... health, or whatever you called it.

  
Then there was the way Akira'd been just as hard as him but had hidden it a thousand times better. Until he didn't. That sort of didn't make it seem like a friendly type of hug, in the end.

  
Akira was dating _Ann_ but he'd - had Akira fucking gotten off on seeing him like that? Did Akira _like_ getting him all -

  
Yusuke interrupted his thoughts, his head still hanging over his shoulder. "Skull. There is no question in my mind. Your performance was dismal, at the beginning of our infiltration - "

  
"Gee, thanks - "

  
" - but by the time Joker asked to speak with you in the safe room, you had clearly improved. Panther agreed."

  
It was hard to think of Ann without his brain zeroing in on how she'd rather pretend her time with him had never happened, but he tried. He focused on the way she'd taken the heat off of him with her shitty acting skills instead, and smiled, still staring straight ahead. "Panther's cool, huh."

  
Yusuke ignored that. "I wasn't aware that the two of you had been... close, once."

  
Yusuke and his stupid shame thing. This part wasn't even _about_ him, but he still couldn't say the words. Ryuji believed deep in his heart that life was easier if you said what you meant, so he corrected him. Better to have all this shit out in the open. "Yeah. We used to fuck around. It ended over a year ago, though. Don't worry. Nothin' to be jealous of."

  
A sigh in his ear, and he looked down to watch Yusuke run his thumb over the shotgun shells in his belt. Bump bump bump. Yusuke inhaled to talk again, but realizing what was behind what Yusuke'd just said made Ryuji tune him out.

  
"Wait - " he interrupted. "You just... _asked?_ You asked if her 'n me ever - ?" That didn't sound like something Yusuke would do.

  
Actually, maybe charging up to everybody else on the team and asking them about their sex lives was exactly something Yusuke would do. It was possible. He really had no idea.

  
"Of course not," Yusuke snapped, and his gloved hand stopped playing with the shells. "She was concerned about - " He stopped himself, then started again. "She asked if we were dating. You and I."

  
He'd sort of been hoping to have a little more time to prepare before he went out for a stroll in that particular minefield. But there it was. "And? What'd you say?"

  
"The truth."

  
That was such a frustrating fucking answer that he immediately stuck it in a box so he wouldn't have to think about it and went back to the other thing that Yusuke had just said, but not said. "Panther just - she just flat out _told_ you her 'n me used to - ? What'd she - "

  
Yusuke didn't sound especially interested, but he answered easily enough. "She said that you were involved. That was the word she chose. 'Physical stuff only'."

  
He went limp against Yusuke's side, ignoring his bonyass shoulder digging into his back. He shut his eyes and blew out all his breath.

  
Ann had told Yusuke about what they'd done a couple summers ago like it was nothing big. Like it was nothing to be ashamed of.

  
Maybe even like she didn't mind thinking about it every now and then, like he did. Physical stuff was all it had been, there was no lie there, but if she could just put it out there to a dude she'd only met a few weeks ago, then that had to mean...

  
If she'd fibbed to Akira about it, she must've had her reasons, but if she could just talk to Yusuke about it like that, like it was no big thing, then Ann liked him being her first experience just fine.

  
There was a corner of his brain devoted to useless fucking shame shit. Maybe a little smaller than the corner in Yusuke's brain that was for the same thing, but it was still there. His had had shit about how Ann talked about him behind his back - except it was the exact opposite of that. He'd been worried about what she _didn't_ say about him behind his back.

  
There was still shit with Akira. Still shit with Yusuke, too. But Yusuke - Yusuke and Ann, really - had just done a number on that stupid fucking corner. Swept a good chunk of the useless shame shit out into the light and right out the door, and he felt so much better that he started to laugh.

  
Yusuke made this huffy little noise in his ear and pulled away until he was all the way on the other side of the back seat again, as far away as he could get.

  
He'd done it again. Yusuke'd had a pretty awful fucking time too, this infiltration, and he'd forgotten all about it and just focused on his own problems again. He hauled his bad leg into the car so he could sit facing the right way and turned to Yusuke. "Sorry. Guess you don't feel like laughin', huh."

  
Deadpan face. Yusuke kept himself to himself.

  
"That - " He remembered the name of the painting just in time. " - Sayuri gallery was somethin' else, huh? Looked like - like it was tough to get through."

  
Yusuke was looking out the window, keeping his face tucked behind his giant collar. But with the interior light on, his expression reflected back from the window clearly enough to make Ryuji wince.

  
He slid across the back seat, keeping his bad leg as straight as he could until he had it laid out across most of the seat. He got himself right into Yusuke's space, hip to hip, and grabbed his hand.

  
Yusuke just let him, staring out at the other not-really-cars in the not-real-parking lot, and left his hand where it was.

  
\----------

  
Now that he had a small stretch of quiet to think, the bullshit tried to come back. Of course it did. Maybe it'd always be in one corner or another, sleeping with one eye open - heh - until he got worn down enough to let it back in. But, right now at least, it was okay. Nobody was here to see him but Yusuke, and if Yusuke saw him at his worst for the dozenth fucking time, it didn't matter. The fact that he knew now that it would be okay if Yusuke saw his dick hard through his suit made sure it didn't happen, of course, because his problem didn't show its face unless it was the worst possible time.

  
So Ryuji just sat there next to him. There was a spot of warm connecting both of them through their suits where their legs were pressed together, and another one where he held his hand. Yusuke didn't hold his hand back, exactly, but he didn't take it away, either, so he just left it like that, laying on his leg.

  
He kept himself out of trouble by thinking of the weirdass car they were in. It didn't even have seatbelts. He'd heard of cars so old they didn't have to have any, but this car wasn't _that_ old. It was shaped like it was made by somebody who'd seen a car from thirty years ago, once, and then had to draw it from memory. Like a normal person's drawing of a car, even, not one drawn by a - a car artist. Whatever you called them. When did cars start getting computer shit in them? This one didn't have any of that either. The dash looked like a cartoon, the bare minimum of shapes to give you an idea of what you were looking at, and the inside had no smell at all. No new car smell, and no _old_ car smell either - no dust, no old fast food smells, no musty air. The air coming in from the still open door just smelled like typical Tokyo air. Nice fresh night air, mostly, though you could smell some exhaust occasionally if you were looking for it, like he was right now.

  
If his cognition could barely come up with a box of a car with nothing in it, did that mean that Madarame wasn't a car guy, despite the fact that he'd been riding in one while he'd bitched at Yusuke, that day they'd all met? Or did it just mean that the greyed out not-Shadows lined up forever in front of the museum drove cars as bland as they were? He was considering trying to get Yusuke talking with some kind of meaningless observation about the car when the warm white interior light over their heads went out with a click.

  
He jumped, but Yusuke didn't. Just kept staring outside, his hand loose in his, like he'd gone somewhere far away and left his body behind.

  
He hadn't asked Yusuke to stay for this. Whatever this was. He cleared his throat. "Weird, huh?"

  
"Mm?"

  
That was better than nothing. "The light. D'you think we used up the battery?"

  
Yusuke didn't seem to think that was worth answering.

  
"Like. It's Metaverse shit, right? Do these cars get a new battery every time we stick our heads in here? Can't be that, right?"

  
Yusuke said, distantly, like he could barely pretend to give a shit, "Surely a car's battery, if new, would last longer than the length of time we've been sitting here."

  
"Right? So - so've these cars been sittin' here for _years?"_ He didn't really care that much about cars, but he'd heard about batteries going flat. They were bigass batteries, so - "Like, however long Madarame's been at it - "

  
He'd always been so fucking good at putting his foot in his mouth.

  
Yusuke finally swivelled his head towards him, his face hard to make out in the near dark, and it was so quiet that Ryuji could hear his neck creak while he did it. "Yes. Years," Yusuke agreed.

  
Now he was the one to clam up. Couldn't do any more damage if he kept his mouth shut.

  
But this time Yusuke picked it up on his own. "It truly is bizarre," he mused. "For every time that I made alterations to it, Madarame's portrait of me restored itself, as if his Shadow had visited overnight to undo all of my hard work. And I am certain that this car's window will be repaired by the time we visit this Palace again. But its battery - " He waved his hand at the darkened dome light overhead.

  
Maybe he hadn't fucked things up too badly then, if Yusuke could just talk about it like that. "Yeah. Don't make sense. 's like how the Shadows remember us - you 'n me - 'n let us go by, but if we're with everybody else, we're in for it. Just... Metaverse shit." He decided that Yusuke sounded okay now. Maybe he'd just needed some time to think. Get his heartrate down, just like him. "Listen. I, uh. I guess I didn't really ask you to stay so we could talk about fuckin'... batteries."

  
Yusuke turned the rest of the way, until his face was right up close, and it caught the light through the windows in an odd way. It wasn't the nasty yellow light from the museum; it was more like the dull blue thrown down from the dark clouds overhead, barely there. Probably some of it was from the bright white spotlights, too, but just a bit of them, dimmed by distance and bounced around by the car's metal and glass. The framing of the car's windows interrupted the light and cut it into pieces, so Yusuke only had a triangle of faint bluish white light thrown across his face. Just that triangle, plus one more little stripe up in his nice shiny hair - though it looked a bit less nice now, after he'd been working hard and sweating for hours.

  
He realized that Yusuke's hair could've looked like a fucking rat's nest and he'd still want to see him just as much.

  
He lifted his hand, forgetting that he still had his thick yellow gloves on, and touched Yusuke's hair. Then ran his fingers down to the back of his neck and left them there.

  
This funny slideshow of expressions went across Yusuke's face. Deadpan to upset - no, Yusuke was _pissed,_ all of a sudden, but then it went away, and now it was more like he was just a little fed up, or something, and now it changed again, to sad, maybe, or - or _pain,_ maybe -

  
Yusuke shut his eyes and tried to kiss him.

  
Why did all this shit have to happen at once? Today Akira'd faked him out and gotten too close, just like this, and then he'd gone and done the real thing to Yusuke, earlier, when they were both up on the roof, but now Yusuke trying to make a move on him all on his own was just... it was too fucking much. So he dodged it.

  
"I wanna - like, I do, really, but - " Really, he wanted to slow down, and now that he'd given his brain a chance to catch up, it reminded him of what he was almost used to. A convenient excuse, even if it was true, too. "It's my fuckin' leg again. Still hurts. Sorry. It wants to be out straight."

  
It wasn't the end of the world. It was just the dull deep-inside kind of ache that it usually had at the end of a long day. He got out of the car and headed for the front of the museum, already planning ahead to how he could sit with his ass flat on the pavement, legs stuck straight out, and get Yusuke to sit between his legs, or maybe beside him, so they could -

  
There was all this shuffling from inside the car, but Yusuke wasn't following him. He turned around and peered inside. "The fuck are you - "

  
Yusuke'd laid down full length, stretched from one side of the car to the other. The top of his head touched the far door, and one of his legs hung right out the nearer door. His other leg was flung wide open, his knee wedged against the back of the driver's seat, until his long legs were as far apart as they could be.

  
Yusuke sat up just enough to gesture to the open space on the seat between his legs. "If your leg is causing you pain, you should take your weight off of it as soon as possible."

  
Ryuji couldn't help it. He threw his head back and laughed, hard. He laughed as he awkwardly got both knees on the seat while trying not to bash his head into the roof, towering over Yusuke with nowhere to put his hands to steady himself. He finally settled for grabbing the back seat and the front seat, one in each hand, and lowered himself down until they were belly to belly, like sardines stacked in a can. He laughed again as he realized his ammo belts dug into both of them and had to wriggle back out of the car to shove them down to the pavement and kick them away. Then he had to get back in and maneuver himself over, then onto Yusuke all over again.

  
He was finally starting to get comfortable, or some distant cousin of comfortable, when he saw Yusuke's face, half pissed off at his laughing and half - half turned on? Turned on by all his awkward flopping around? Half pink and blushy and impatient, anyway, and for some reason that made him laugh so hard that he could feel his own belly smacking against Yusuke's through both of their thin suits as he did it.

  
Yusuke got his arms around him right away, one hand on the small of his back and the other at his neck, gently pulling his head down close to his.

  
But all that moving around had reminded him of more than his sore leg. They were way closer together, now, and he was still all - "Aw. Fox. Fuck. I wanna. But I'm fuckin' gross right now." He propped himself up with his arms as best he could until his face and shoulders were lifted well off of Yusuke.

  
Yusuke just looked up at him, waiting patiently for him to start making sense, and started running his hand up and over his ass. Not grabbing it. Not yet. More like he was just enjoying the little slithery sound the smooth fabric of his glove made over the slickness of the suit's plasticky material.

  
Getting outside the car for a minute had let the night air hit his hair more properly, as well as his face and his neck. Yusuke just didn't get it. "I'm sweaty as fuck, man. You don't wanna be all over me right now." He could feel the sweat, cool where the air could get to it and hot and ticklish under his suit. Running down his back when he moved and collecting everywhere he didn't want it to be. He had to be pretty fragrant by now, too.

  
Yusuke took his hands from where they'd been resting on his ass and brought them up and around Ryuji's arms, until Yusuke had his hands resting on his chest. Was Yusuke going to just shove him right off? He'd kept putting him off with excuses, so he wouldn't be surprised.

  
Yusuke did surprise him, though. He lifted his blue gloved hands and started skimming them over Ryuji's neck.

  
One palm up one side, one palm up the other. Yusuke got his fingers around the back of his neck, too, and he thought Yusuke was going to start tugging on him again to get him to be closer, but that wasn't what he was going for. Yusuke just ran his fingertips from the base of his neck, inside his collar, up to where his hair started at the back of his head.

  
Yusuke brought his hands back to the front of his neck and, out of nowhere, started reefing on his collar.

  
"Wh- " But he got what Yusuke was doing right away and shut his mouth. The big collar of his Metaverse suit was nearly ripped all the way off after all the hits he'd taken today, so Yusuke was just finishing the job. Two good yanks and the seams ripped right out, and the night air finally hitting the newly exposed skin of his sweaty neck was good enough to make him shiver.

  
Yusuke let the collar hit the floor of the car with a plasticky slap sort of noise and tackled his red scarf thing next. The knot was difficult with gloved fingers but he managed. He untied it, and unfortunately Ryuji got a look at it before it joined the detached collar on the floor. The fabric was dark with sweat and so stiff that it tried to hold its shape even after being untied.

  
Fuck. His face went hot. He wrinkled his nose and did his best to forget it.

  
The silence was getting to him again. But Yusuke got back to - to whatever he was doing. Yusuke ran his gloved palms over Ryuji's collarbones, just above where his suit started, and slipped them back up his neck where the scarf had been. Just little whispery touches, light but thorough, like he wanted to feel every inch he could. Yusuke kept his eyes where his fingers went, intent on what he was doing, and Ryuji recognized what he was seeing. It was his art face.

  
Yusuke lifted his head suddenly and he realized, too late, that he'd been letting his arms relax inch by inch until their faces were close again. But Yusuke didn't do what he'd thought he would. Instead of trying to kiss him for real, Yusuke brought his lips to his throat.

  
It wasn't like a kiss. Not really. There was no pressure to it. Yusuke just moved his entire head and kept his lips still, brushing them against Ryuji's skin. Down between his collarbones, then once on the left side, then up beneath his jaw, near his earlobe -

  
He finally got what he was doing. Yusuke was kissing his fucking sweat away.

  
He wanted to get up off of him _right the fuck now_ and jump right out the car door. Maybe jump right out of the Metaverse, too. Every bit of him was cringing away, waiting for -

  
But Yusuke just kept going - one more not-quite-a-kiss on the line of his throat, where the cartilage was near the surface - and then went back to using his hands. He skimmed his soft blue gloves over Ryuji's face, now. The edges of Yusuke's hands on his cheekbones as his fingertips traced over his eyebrows. Yusuke's palms, one gently swiping over his forehead and the other cupping his jaw, finding where the last of the dried blood was and brushing it away. Light, ticklish touches of the pads of Yusuke's thumbs over his lips, his nose, his chin.

  
His hair was last. Stiff and stuck in place with sweat and a little blood and product from way too many hours ago. But Yusuke went there too. He kept his fingers together to stay out of the clumps and just petted him, left hand right hand, all the way from back to front and over the sides, until he was satisfied.

  
If this was art, he had no fucking clue what you called it. And Yusuke drilling his eyes into his face was getting to him. "You're so fuckin' weird - " he muttered.

  
Yusuke took the time to strip off his blue gloves, now dark with sweat that wasn't his, and dropped them onto the weird little pile of clothing pieces that were finding a home on the floor. "And you are lovely," he fired back, like that made sense as an answer, like he was _mad,_ like that was something you just _said -_

  
He'd let himself get distracted by the glove treatment. The glove bath. Whatever you called it. He'd let his arms and neck relax until he was within reach. There were only a few inches between his and Yusuke's faces now.

  
Yusuke shut his eyes, leaned in close, and kissed him, hard.

  
"Mm- " He finally put up the white flag and gave in.

  
Yusuke didn't know what the fuck he was doing, but he made up for it with enthusiasm.

  
When he'd kissed Yusuke a few minutes before, up on the roof, no part of his brain had been involved. It had just decided to sit that one out. He'd seen the moment, the thirty seconds between Ann jumping down to the parking lot and Yusuke getting to the edge of the roof himself, and he'd just hopped right in with both feet, like if he waited one second longer he'd miss his chance forever.

  
And it really had felt that way. One second too late and Yusuke'd get away, just turn on his heel and disappear back into the shack instead of the museum, and then Yusuke'd go back to ignoring all of his messages. They'd see each other at the next infiltration, sure, but that was just another chance for him to fuck everything up. It had felt like this giant thing, a force or a person or, or himself, really - the brave part of himself, or the smart part of himself - pushing him at Yusuke, screaming at him to do something, do _something,_ before it was too late. So he had. He'd kissed him, and then he'd realized what he'd done, and he'd gotten the fuck out of there before the others could realize he'd lagged behind.

  
Yusuke was doing it back now, though. Trying, anyway.

  
Except Yusuke's idea of kissing was to just push his teeth at you through his lips, hard, without moving his lips at all, like he'd never kissed anybody before, and - and maybe that was exactly it. Maybe he was Yusuke's first kiss, too. Yusuke had a face that should've had all the girls at Kosei after him, and some of the dudes, too, but maybe he was his first.

  
The thought made him change his mind about giving him shit about it.

  
He let himself relax against Yusuke's chest, tilting his face for a better angle and finally, fuck, _finally,_ his brain gave it a rest. Bullshit turned right the fuck _off._ He thought of nothing more than moving his mouth and showing Yusuke how it was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're gettin somewhere


	22. Ephemeral Art

Yusuke was hot, but when he kissed you it felt like he was trying to bite you through his lips. If you could bite without moving your mouth.

  
They'd been lying one on top of the other in the back seat of the car that wasn't really a car outside the museum for a good while now. Long enough for him to forget all about the bullshit, and his stupid aching leg, and Akira. Long enough for him to realize that Yusuke might need a little guidance.

  
Ryuji broke off, but Yusuke took it right back up again, craning his neck to catch him. "Hey - Fox - mm - _Fox - "_

  
"What." His voice was flat, like he didn't like being interrupted.

  
"Like this. Do it like this."

  
When he'd thought back on his time with Ann over the last few months, his brain had really homed in on the parts where they'd gone the furthest. The parts where his dick was out, or what she'd felt like on the inside, riding his fingers. But that was just the bullshit driving. In the moment, and when he'd thought back on it while times were good, he'd known that he'd liked the kissing just as much. They'd always spent way longer on that part than anything else, too.

  
Yusuke started to get it, and he got better at it. He relaxed, and his lips felt softer.

  
Ryuji went for it. Yusuke let his tongue in.

  
God, that _noise._ Yusuke fucking groaned underneath him, an enthusiastic sort of 'mmh' right into his mouth, and he felt it vibrating up into his chest, too, where they were pressed together.

  
He kept thinking Yusuke was timid, or prudish, but then he'd turn around and surprise him. Yusuke was taller, so he got both hands on Ryuji's hips and just outright manhandled him until they were lined up right, then lifted his head and leaned forward so he could keep kissing him, leaving the back of his head resting on the car door. Yusuke groped his ass, hard, and got his tongue in his mouth, sloppy but _good_ sloppy, and then started slowly moving his hips beneath him.

  
Goddamn.

  
He hadn't even realized he was hard all over again. He would've said he was sort of sick of it by now, to be honest, but feeling Yusuke's cock getting all friendly with his through the thin material of their suits helped change his mind. He let out some ridiculous noise, something that was like a pain noise but wasn't, and Yusuke kept getting new ideas.

  
Yusuke's hands were bare now, and Ryuji realized he was trying to lever his fingers between the two of them, down where things were interesting.

  
He'd liked everything so far, but - "Fox. Not - not today."

  
Yusuke looked pissy, as he'd expected, but he didn't whine about it. That looked like real concern on his face. "Is your problem... ? You aren't having a good day?"

  
"Oh - no. No, it ain't that. I mean, it's been a fuckin' awful day, actually, but I'm good right now." Except that didn't seem one hundred percent truthful. Credit where credit was due, right? "Like. Really good," he grinned, and let his hips inch forward, just enough to show him what he meant. He wouldn't have thought Yusuke just kissing him and grabbing his ass and giving him less than a minute of dick on dick through their suits could get him this far, actually, but there it was. "'m just too gross for more, is all."

  
Yusuke got a little line between his eyebrows. "Your lips had no taste."

  
"I mean, I don't think they're s'posed to, so that's good, I guess, but. That ain't really what I meant."

  
This big huff, and now Yusuke did whine. "You intend to put me off again, then."

  
Poor baby thought he was just gonna leave him high and dry. He kissed him again, and when Yusuke jerked his head away, still all pissy, he gave in and tried to reassure him. He smiled down at him. "Nah, 's not a thing. Don't worry. I'll take care of you."

  
If he did a good enough job, maybe he could get down on his knees and get Yusuke to come with his mouth before his leg started to hurt too bad. It wasn't like he'd had any more than thirty seconds of practice before Yusuke'd stopped him, last time, but he was determined, and Yusuke always came quick anyway.

  
He lifted his chest off of Yusuke with his arms and started to wriggle away to get out of the car, but Yusuke got him in a bear hug, tight enough to trap him. "I meant - I meant that I - " Yusuke stammered.

  
He'd only made it partway out, so now that Yusuke'd grabbed him, he sank down to Yusuke's chest - his ribs, really - and let his face rest there, uncomfortable though it was. Yusuke was a bony fucker. "Whaaat? Whaddyou mean, huh?" he teased, talking directly into Yusuke's chest.

  
He grinned. Maybe Yusuke had a special request. Like maybe he'd want him to do it for him out in the dim light outside, where he could see things better, or maybe Yusuke'd want him to - what did he say before? - strike a _dynamic pose,_ For Art.

  
He was trying to figure out what could possibly fall under dynamic poses that you could still do while giving a guy head when Yusuke tensed under him. Yusuke actually did sound sort of upset now, not just his usual snappy self, so he decided to stop bugging him.

  
"You _know_ what I want," Yusuke insisted, and released him, letting his arms fall to his sides.

  
He really didn't. "What?"

  
If he lifted his head, there was just enough dim blue light in the backseat to see Yusuke's expression. Intense. Maybe a little hurt, and that made his stomach sink. He'd fucked something up again.

  
Yusuke'd gotten his words in order. "You say that you are having a good day, right now at least, but you won't allow me to lay a finger on you. I've barely so much as _seen_ you, and - Skull. What do I need to do to earn your trust?" he demanded. "What more do you need from me before you'll allow me to reciprocate?"

  
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  
Yusuke tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling. His voice was quiet. "You promised me."

  
He had. He'd forgotten, but he had. A couple days ago, when he'd gotten Yusuke off on the couch inside the museum. Yusuke'd liked it, and Yusuke'd wanted to give him something back, just like the day before that, during the fucked up thing at the wall, but he'd said no both times.

  
All he'd done with Yusuke the last few times he'd seen him had been to say no, because he was scared shitless of saying yes.

  
The bullshit was saying yes incarnate. It was _giving in._ So saying no was supposed to be the cure. Saying no for once, not just when he was by himself but when he had Yusuke all but begging to touch him, had given him this little seed of pride in the centre of his chest.

  
Yusuke just didn't get it.

  
"Fox," he sighed, digging his face into Yusuke's flat belly. "It ain't like that. I trust you fine. I trust you _lots._ It's me I don't trust."

  
He shut his eyes with relief when he felt Yusuke's hands creep back around him. More like a hug, maybe. Or maybe he just didn't have anywhere else to put his arms. "I won't harm you."

  
"Yeah, I know. I ain't scared of that." He grinned against Yusuke's suit. "You got artist hands. Long fingers. Bet you'd treat me nice."

  
"You promised that you'd allow me to touch you, when next we met," Yusuke reminded him.

  
"Yeah. I did."

  
"And I will never learn, unless you allow me the opportunity. I will never improve without practice."

  
Aw. Maybe Yusuke worried about this shit too, just like he did. About skill level, or whatever. Dick handling proficiency. It was different when it wasn't yours. "Yeah. I know." His legs were starting to feel weird, hanging out the door at an angle, so he scooted up the seat again and planted himself back on top of Yusuke, chest to chest.

  
It was hard to look him in the eye, but he forced himself. "It ain't you at all. I'm just scared the bullshit will come back."

  
Yusuke got what he meant. "Your problem."

  
"Yeah. Like, what if I'm good now but it gets in there while we're goin' at it - gets in my head, I mean - 'n it - like, I know I'm not gonna say no to it forever. I can't. I - I said yes while we were on the phone. You know. And the bullshit stayed away, that time. But if it comes back while - while I'm actually _here_ with you, I just - "

  
Ugh. He could barely attach words to it. The idea of letting Yusuke get his hands on him, and then the bullshit getting its hooks in while he did it, made him feel sick. "It'd be fuckin' awful," he got out.

  
"You are afraid you will... "

  
"Yeah. I already been like that all - all infiltration. The whole fuckin' time. You saw me. You know what it was." But as he said it, he realized how nice it was to even _have_ someone who knew. When had he ever even had that, just that? Someone who knew, who didn't mind knowing? Never. He'd never pictured himself telling anyone about his problem before, let alone a dude he'd known for less than a month, but now that it had worked out that way, he was glad that it was Yusuke.

  
He felt a bit better.

  
Yusuke sounded thoughtful. "As I recall, you mentioned that you had found something that helped you with your problem."

  
Ugh. Suddenly he felt worse again. "Oh. That. It's just. It's nothin'."

  
"What is it?"

  
He was sick of shutting him out. But talking about it made it feel silly and small. A game of pretend. "Oh, I just. I dunno why, but the other day the bullshit was gettin' to me in the shower, 'n for some reason I thought of my sheets."

  
"Your - you mean the sheets on your bed?"

  
"Yeah, like. I thought of - I pictured messin' 'em up 'n then makin' 'em all nice again."

  
This was making him sound insane.

  
"Do you think of your bed as a calming... place?" Yusuke said hesitantly.

  
This was so stupid. He wished he'd never brought it up back in the museum in the first place. _"No,_ cuz that's where half the bullshit happens, so I don't even - I dunno why it worked. It ain't the bed. It's me makin' the sheets ugly with my hands 'n then takin' all the time it needs to make 'em nice again. To take out all the wrinkles."

  
"Perhaps that is enough to force your mind to accept a new train of thought," Yusuke said. "A form of - _is_ it a form of meditation?"

  
"Fuck if I know."

  
"Whatever it might be classified as, you said that it helped you during today's infiltration. Were you focusing on your sheets in battle?"

  
That made him sound batshit crazy. But it was true. "Yeah. Til I got my shit together."

  
Yusuke craned his neck up, got good and close, and gave him this nice little kiss. Not a makeout kiss. A soft little 'it's okay' kiss. "You fought well."

  
His chest hurt, like he was going to get all weepy over Yusuke being nice to him. God. "Cuz you helped me. Thanks."

  
"It's true that I helped you during the final stretch. But your performance showed marked improvement even before I began to cover you in battle." Yusuke stared up at him like he was daring him to argue. "You are making progress. You are getting better. Better than you were, at least."

  
Why did it piss him off so much to hear Yusuke say that? He let his breath out all at once, his back stiffening. "'m _not,_ though - "

  
"You are."

  
"The fuck do you know about it, huh? You live inside my head now?" Yusuke brought his hands back up again, and that pissed him off more, enough to bark at him. "Get your hands off my ass, man."

  
Really, they'd been resting on his lower back, but Yusuke did, right away. But now he looked all fired up. "What I do know is that you've declined more often than you've - " His voice faltered for just a second as he settled on a euphemism, then came out louder than before. " - accepted, while you've been inside the Palace with me. And I suspect that your - your overall frequency has decreased, as well."

  
What a stupid fucking thing to argue about. He couldn't, anyway. Argue. He couldn't think of a single thing to say.

  
"Well?" Yusuke demanded. "How often? How often, when your problem is at its worst?"

  
In less than a minute he'd gone from feeling all weepy over how nice Yusuke could be, to being furious with him, to... whatever you called this. When somebody was trying to beat you over the head with facts, embarrassing facts, and you didn't want to admit they were right. "L-like. Four or five times - " Fuck. He cleared his throat. " - a day. Every day. More."

  
"And now?"

  
He shut his eyes tight so he wouldn't have to see Yusuke staring at him. "Once a day. Less. I - I haven't in a couple days. Since the phone thing with you."

  
"And where do you... ?" Yusuke couldn't come up with a euphemism in time and trailed off instead.

  
He got what he meant. "Just. Just at home now. In my bed, when I want to. I ain't done it in the school washroom in weeks." But that wasn't being totally honest. "The museum, too, though. I, uh. I did it a lot in the museum. Before you found me that one time."

  
"And now?" Yusuke said, stubborn.

  
"For the museum? Not since Sunday. The statue thing," he admitted.

  
"You are able to say no, now. Your frequency has decreased significantly. And you are able to fight like your old self," Yusuke declared, like he was the authority on all of this shit. Like he knew better.

  
But he couldn't be mad anymore. His body relaxed without him telling it to, slumping forward and closing the distance between them until there wasn't any. His face found a spot under Yusuke's jaw, tucked into his bigass collar, and stayed there, breathing in the smell of his hair and his skin and clean, honest sweat. Hard work sweat. Exercise sweat.

  
He remembered what he himself probably smelled like and, though he didn't exactly want Yusuke to get any more up close and personal than he already was, he couldn't get worked up about it right now either. He was too comfortable. He shut his eyes, and this time, when Yusuke slowly put his hands around his back, he sighed and stayed still.

  
He liked feeling Yusuke's heart against his chest. His pulse against the side of his face.

  
If he was being truthful, there was something about the idea of letting Yusuke finally get his hands on him that he liked, too.

  
Yusuke didn't know that, though. He puffed his breath down the back of Ryuji's neck, where his collar used to be, in a sigh. "I have been unreasonable. I apologize."

  
He mumbled directly into Yusuke's skin, just below his ear. "Nah. S'okay. I, uh. I appreciate it. That helped."

  
Maybe he _was_ getting better.

  
Last infiltration he'd been worse than useless. This one, he'd soaked up hits, at least, but last time he'd been so zombied out that the Shadows had ignored him, not even seeing him as a threat. So he'd already done better this time just because of that. And then, after Yusuke's pep talk outside the safe room, he'd fought like he'd used to. Dodging hits and landing his own, too, like he knew what the fuck he was doing again.

  
And - and even if he didn't feel all that much better on the inside, there were changes on the outside. Yusuke was right. His frequency was way down compared to when he was at his worst. And if he had to do it, it felt a hell of a lot better in his bed or in the museum, next to Yusuke, than it did in a public washroom or at school, struggling to avoid thinking of the wrong shit.

  
And he had a thing to try, now. Maybe. He'd only tried it a couple times so far, but it'd worked.

  
Maybe he should test it again, in a place that wasn't in his bathroom or right in the middle of a bunch of fucking Shadows.

  
But there was the sweat.

  
He probably smelled like a zoo inside his suit. Yusuke'd slit him open, get a whiff and then send him packing.

  
Yusuke just smelled like a locker room. Not so different from the track team locker room, really. It was just exercise sweat. Akira got that way, and so did Ann, by the end of an infiltration. He used to, too. But he knew from experience what his problem did. It made him smell like anxiety sweat - _fear_ sweat - and it was different. It was fucking rank, and expecting Yusuke to just happily get him off while having to be cooped up in a car with that was not exactly realistic.

  
There was also the matter of his dick. He was so thoroughly grubby with precum after hours of going half soft, hard, soft that a shower was going to be absolutely -

  
Oh.

  
Fuck Morgana and his snotty little oneliners. He could be smart. He'd just come up with the perfect solution, and it wouldn't even need water.

  
He tried to talk, but his voice came out all choked, so he had to clear his throat and try again. "I think you're right. I. I wanna try."

  
Yusuke's hands started moving right away, like he'd barely been able to hold himself back, and it made Ryuji laugh into his neck.

  
"Wait. Don't get too excited. Uh, literally." He wriggled off of Yusuke again, inching out of the car, until he could stand up straight and stretch his back, making it crackle.

  
Yusuke sat up and gave him that huff that he was so good at. "What do you propose, then, if you are not going to - "

  
"We just gotta hop out for a sec." He glanced straight up, as if expecting to see the sun up there in the permadark sky, and the sight of nothing but black and clouds gave him a guilty jolt as he finally remembered that he'd been in the museum for what felt like hours without any way to tell the time. Longer than usual, anyway, since he'd hung out with Yusuke in the car after the infiltration was over. "Shit. I gotta - Like, I know this ain't sexy, or whatever, but I gotta text my mom, too."

  
"For what reason?"

  
He was about to snark at him but held it in just in time. There was a reason Yusuke didn't know this shit. "I gotta tell her I won't be home for dinner."

  
"I suppose it is likely evening, by now," Yusuke said, trailing after him as they crossed the parking lot. "This is when we usually part ways."

  
Did Yusuke sound disappointed?

  
It wasn't like there was anybody to see them now. He turned around, grabbed Yusuke's hand and yanked him in for a good kiss. He knew it was a good one, because when he pulled back, Yusuke left his mouth open for several seconds before shutting it with a snap. Looked like he'd gone pink again, too, though it was hard to tell in the dim light.

  
"Just for a minute, man. Then I'm all yours. If your evening's free."

  
Yusuke didn't bother answering. He dug out his phone and hit the Nav for the two of them, as if to get the interruption over with as quickly as possible.

  
\----------

  
It really was late. Getting dark, at least. The two of them leaned against the wall of the shack, around the side where it was hard to see from the street.

  
Yusuke peered over his shoulder at his text convo with his mom, curious.

  
Whatever. It was just boring shit anyway.

  
RYUJI: hey mom  
RYUJI: how goes  
MOM: Tired  
MOM: Good enough I guess  
MOM: How's """Yusuke"""

  
He did _not_ have the energy for this today.

  
RYUJI: he's fucking real, okay  
RYUJI: i'm showing this to him right now  
RYUJI: listen, i'm gonna be late

  
He'd almost forgotten that this was a special favour sorta thing, since he was technically grounded after the stunt he'd pulled on Sunday.

  
RYUJI: if that's okay  
MOM: Lol  
MOM: Nice save  
MOM: Sure. Just don't be out too late  
MOM: Have fun  
MOM: Be safe, okay?

  
Uh. The fuck did that mean?

  
RYUJI: yup  
RYUJI: we will

  
This part felt weird with Yusuke watching, somehow. But he'd feel weirder if he didn't type it.

  
RYUJI: love you  
MOM: Love you too

  
He heard Yusuke open his mouth to say something and jammed his thumb over the Nav before he could get a word out. They wavered right back into the parking lot, up next to the wall of the museum this time, with their masks and gloves back on and suits looking pristine again.

  
"Ahhh... " Ryuji sighed with satisfaction.

  
"'Ahhh?'" Yusuke asked.

  
He'd known it would work. But it still felt good to be proven right. "Metaverse shower."

  
"What do you - "

  
No more hours' worth of nasty sweat pooling in all his nooks and crannies. No more BO. Even his hair felt better without the old sweat in it. "I was gross a minute ago. Now we're reset to the way we were before. Right?" He took his gloves and mask off and felt his hair. Just product, now.

  
Yusuke'd taken his mask and gloves off too, and now he was running his fingers through his own hair, testing it. He couldn't tell what his looked like, but Yusuke's looked better for sure. "Mm. You are correct."

  
He got a good grip on his pipe and swung it through the front window of a different car, this one with a slightly roomier backseat - might as well be choosy, given the option - and reached in to unlock it.

  
Yusuke'd gotten all grabby though. Ryuji felt his hands come around him from behind, first on his chest and then down to his waist. They kept going, too - "Hey, there's glass here, man. Careful." It was just pebbly safety glass, but. Still.

  
Yusuke pushed and pulled him until he'd turned Ryuji around to face him, propping him against the front of the car and away from the broken glass in the driver's side door, and he just went along with it all. It was nice to not have to think for once. It was nice to give in.

  
Yusuke got his mouth on his, and his hands on his ass like he was on a mission. Well, maybe that wasn't the target. One of Yusuke's hands stayed on his ass, but the other came around front again and grabbed -

  
Nope. It wasn't as easy as that. He'd tried, but he couldn't do it.

  
Panic blared over everything else and made him back away from Yusuke automatically, like he had no say in the matter. There was nowhere to go but the car, so he hiked himself up and got his ass on the hood, then hunched forward to put his elbows on his thighs and his hands back on Yusuke's hips. It also conveniently took his dick out of reach.

  
Maybe all that being freaked out over sweat was just his brain throwing up roadblocks.

  
Yusuke slouched forward and leaned on him a bit, letting out this big dramatic sigh. "Perhaps another time, then." He sounded like his fucking dog had died.

  
"I want to, I just - "

  
"You _don't_ , or you _would."_

  
"Just lemme do you first, then. You can get me after. If. If you still want. Promise."

  
"That sounds familiar." Yusuke could be catty when he wanted to.

  
"Yeah, well. I mean it. You first, then me."

  
He couldn't see Yusuke's face, but he could practically hear what was going through his head. Yusuke was tempted, but wanted to argue more. So he ran his thumb down Yusuke's suit in a straight line, chest to belly to dick, where he was already a little hard, and woke him up the rest of the way with his fingertips.

  
No more arguing.

  
"Go sit in the backseat, okay? Sideways."

  
Yusuke got moving. When he opened the car door, the interior light came on, warm and white, just like the last time. "Sideways? I don't under- "

  
"Like - get to the edge and stick your legs out - " He tugged on Yusuke's legs until he'd figured it out. Now Yusuke had his ass inside the car and his legs outside, with the heels of his white go go boots resting on the asphalt.

  
He pried Yusuke's knees apart and dropped to a kneeling position between them, letting his kneepads take the impact. Thanks, kneepads. Then he got his arms up on top of Yusuke's long legs and looked up at him, haloed by the interior light behind his head.

  
He liked the view from down here. But Yusuke had the same look on his face as last time.

  
"This - this is degrading. To you. I can't allow you to - "

  
He rolled his eyes. "You know what's _actually_ degrading? Hearin' you say that over 'n over." He got his face good and close until he could just see it, a long hard shape under the slick material of Yusuke's suit.

  
He touched his lips to it, then grinned when he heard Yusuke gasp.

  
Suddenly he got it. This wasn't a 'no' situation. This was a 'this was all _your_ idea' situation. "You're gonna make me beg? Seriously?" He kissed Yusuke's cock through his thin, plasticky suit - mwah, mwah - and then really got his mouth around it. Tongue, too, until he thought he could feel out the edges of the head, even through the suit and whatever kind of underwear Yusuke's cognition gave him. His suit didn't taste too great, but it was worth it to hear how ragged Yusuke's breathing had gotten.

  
He stopped and looked up. Yusuke was leaning his forehead against the doorframe, now, and he'd let his mouth fall open, just a little.

  
Fuck, he looked good.

  
More stupid little closemouthed kisses on Yusuke's leg, a few inches away from the centre of attention. "Oh, Fox," he said, sounding all fake. It was just Ann's acting voice. Mwah, mwah. "Please let me suck on that - " Mwah, mwah, this time right by the base. " - big, beautiful cock of yours." Mwah, mwah, this time on the tip. Shit, he'd escalated too quickly. Now he had nowhere left to go. "Aw, please," he singsonged. "Lemme just - "

  
_"Enough,"_ Yusuke gasped, and grabbed him by the hair. He _pulled_ it as he pushed his face away, and it made his cock throb hard enough for him to close his eyes and gasp himself.

  
His cock got up to too much in a day for him to always keep tabs on it, apparently. It was hard as a fucking rock, trapped against his leg inside his tight suit. It looked like he liked this just as much as Yusuke did.

  
Maybe more than Yusuke did. He _had_ just said no, more or less. "Sorry." He looked up at him. "You okay?"

  
"Why do you - why do you insist upon - " Yusuke stammered. "You are so _vulgar - "_

  
Was _that_ all it was? He grinned. "Me 'n my mouth, huh? You better find a way to shut me up, then."

  
This time he kept quiet, and he didn't do any more kissing, either. He just stared up at Yusuke and waited.

  
Yusuke got the zipper of his suit between his fingers and slowly pulled it down. He lost his nerve, though, and left it zipped at waist height, just above his sash thing.

  
Ryuji took over and pulled it the rest of the way down, just as slowly. He kept his eyes on Yusuke's the whole while, and this time Yusuke didn't stop him.

  
Yusuke put his hand back on his head. Just a gentle pressure, now. "Would you allow me to be selfish?" Yusuke asked, his voice low.

  
Where did selfish come into a thing like this? "I'm offerin', man. I want to." He got Yusuke out of his underwear and ran his fingers over it, just admiring it for a second. He looked up at him one last time, looking for a 'no', and this time there was none. He got to work.

  
Yusuke's cock was heavy and warm in his mouth. He slicked his tongue over its edges and mouthed over the tip, then brought his hand up to stroke it at the same time. He got his head bobbing like he'd seen in porn, like how Ann used to do with him -

  
Yusuke fucking thrust right into his throat, all the way to the back, and he had to pull off with a nasty wet noise to cough. "Hkk - fuck, man - " he gravelled out, wiping his mouth.

  
"A-are you alright?"

  
"Yeah, just - " He coughed again. "Go easy on me. Gonna give me fuckin'... white lung, or somethin'." He laughed a little at his own joke - you had to, with Yusuke, because he wouldn't - and then got back to it.

  
Tried to. "Did I hurt you?" Yusuke looked almost scared.

  
He thought back on how Yusuke'd acted last time he'd tried this. It was Yusuke's weird shame shit, he figured. He remembered to slow down.

  
"Nah. 's not a thing. Really." He raised himself up on his knees and gave Yusuke a kiss on the bare skin revealed by the zipper, below the sash thing. Between his dick and the divot of his hip. "Don't worry."

  
Since when was he so... _mushy?_ He'd never seen himself as being like that. Maybe it was just that he'd never had the chance to be like that.

  
Yusuke must've brought it out in him.

  
He got Yusuke's cock back in his mouth and felt his own respond, slippery with precum and squeezed tight against his suit by the way he was kneeling. Why the fuck did he like this so much? It was for Yusuke, but something about it really got him going, too. He could hear Yusuke's breathing above his head - panting, really - so he looked up at him as he took as much of him in as he could, sucking hard and using his free hand to run his fingers over Yusuke's bare hip. His thigh, still in his suit. His balls, still tucked away in his underwear.

  
Yusuke didn't look away, and he didn't look freaked out anymore, either. He just looked down at him, eyes huge in his solemn face, staring like he couldn't get enough.

  
Fuck. He couldn't wait any longer. He took his free hand back, still slicking Yusuke's cock with his mouth, nice and steady, and stroked himself through his suit to the exact same beat.

  
He could've been in heaven.

  
Yusuke'd started touching his knees to Ryuji's shoulders on the downstroke, just lightly, but his hands did more. One was in his hair again, grasping but not pulling, and the other was balled up in a fist in Ryuji's collar, like Yusuke wanted to be ready to yank him off any minute. Or like he wanted to feel like he could. But he didn't. He just let out these tiny little gasps with a hint of his voice beneath, barely there, and kept his eyes locked on. Watching his own cock disappear, then reappear.

  
It was getting good. He _felt_ good. No more bullshit. He sped up a bit, as much for Yusuke as for himself, so he could get the hand on his own cock going faster while still keeping time, and that was it. He groaned, surprised at himself at the noise he made, and Yusuke flexed against his tongue. Suddenly it was in his mouth - a hot wash of cum flooding his tongue, headed for his throat - and - shit - were you _supposed_ to swallow? They didn't in porn, they usually just left it in their mouth to show it off, but that didn't mean anything. Was it _bad_ to swallow? Gross? He didn't think it was, but -

  
He finally managed to call up a memory of Ann doing it for him, swallowing him down and then making a face, every time, so he just did what she did, minus the face. Might as well take a lesson from his mentor.

  
Down the hatch. It was strong, but you'd think this shit was poison from how Ann had treated it. Yusuke's was just -

  
He got it all down without trouble, then licked Yusuke's cock clean. "Huh. Yours don't even taste bad."

  
Yusuke didn't look like he was in any shape to answer. He was leaning his forehead against the doorframe, eyes closed and a million miles away.

  
"Like. It ain't bitter like mine is. Bet you don't get a lotta meat."

  
Yusuke looked wiped out, so he saved his dumb meat joke for another time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thank you to [Alexilulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexilulu) who helped me come up with 'white lung' lol


	23. Oeuvre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't look like I'll be able to keep to a weekly schedule anymore, unfortunately, but I'll update as often as I can. Thanks for following along!

Yusuke was unable to open his eyes for a long moment. His mind was still a void, swallowing up anything even approaching a coherent thought. As he returned to himself, he'd have described it as feeling drained if the word didn't feel uncomfortably literal. He tried not to think about it and focused on other sensations instead.

  
His body felt so warm and heavy, as though he could fall asleep inside this stranger's car. Even if it was inside the Metaverse, and even if he was still indecent.

  
His body was _pleased,_ he allowed. Ryuji had _pleased_ him. He tiptoed around it, closer and closer, not at all certain that he would like the conclusion. Ryuji had _pleasur-_

  
Ryuji had taken him into his mouth -

  
But it was difficult to focus. His heartrate had picked up again, and the sensation of being pleasantly immobilized was beginning to fade already. Ryuji had - Ryuji had just brought him to _orgasm_ with his mouth, and had even swallowed the evidence, and now he was just talking away -

  
Ryuji was so free with his touch, too. He wrapped his arms around Yusuke's waist in a strange embrace, still kneeling on the asphalt between his widespread knees, then pulled back again and grinned up at him. "Hey! You lasted longer, that time." The grin vanished, replaced by a contrite look. "Unless that means I did a shit job."

  
How could Ryuji just _say_ things like that -

  
It was obvious enough that Ryuji wanted reassurance of some kind, but the shame swept through him like silt in riverwater, clouding the whole until there was nothing but murk left. So he covered his face with both hands and simply let himself fall backwards into the backseat of the car with a thump. He was unable to speak.

  
He heard Ryuji's boots scrape against the ground, then heard footsteps behind the car. The passenger door clicked open behind his head, and suddenly Ryuji was clambering into the car again, this time on the opposite side. There was just enough room for Ryuji to sit next to him, with the side of his thigh brushing the top of his head.

  
"You didn't like it?"

  
It was important that he speak, now, and he wanted to, but the pieces would not come together.

  
"Agh. Sorry. I'll do better next time. 'm still figurin' it out."

  
For whatever reason, that was what spurred him to finally speak. He removed his hands from his face and blinked up at Ryuji's face, upside down and hard to make out, washed out as it was by the interior light above. "You mean to tell me that you've never - ?!"

  
"Nah. Never. Like, except for when we tried it the first time, on the couch. You're my first dude."

  
All this time, he'd thought Ryuji so confident and experienced. But - "But then how did you - "

  
Peering down at him, Ryuji laughed incredulously, and Yusuke enjoyed the way Ryuji's grin brightened his face even as some part of him bristled at the insult or insinuation that he knew was coming. Ryuji almost always gave him mixed feelings, and he thought he might never get used to it. "It ain't _hard."_ He laughed, his grin widening into a leer. "I mean, it _is._ Hard."

  
He pointedly stopped looking at Ryuji's face, choosing instead to gaze out the open door, where his legs were still stretched out to the parking lot outside.

  
His eyes were trained upon the building in the distance, but it was Akira's face that he saw. Akira's smirk as he told the rest of the Thieves that Ryuji's poor performance could be explained away by a cold. The way Akira had looked when he'd left the safe room, his body language conveying nothing more than confidence and satisfaction.

  
Perhaps Ryuji only meant that Yusuke was the first that he'd used his mouth on, specifically.

  
"Well. I guess I don't get to say that, huh? That it ain't hard? If you hated it so much."

  
Ryuji was trying to goad him into speaking, and he knew from experience that being aware of Ryuji's intentions would not stop it from working.

  
"Felt like you liked it, though. Tasted like you liked it."

  
He scowled and shut his eyes.

  
"I better do it again," Ryuji teased. "I still got some things I wanna try."

  
What on _earth_ was left to - "That won't be necessary," he said quickly. "Please don't."

  
While his eyes were still closed, he felt a tickling sensation across his forehead, and realized Ryuji was pushing at his hair.

  
"Aw. 'm sorry man," Ryuji murmured. His voice was so soft that he almost could have been another person. The vulgarity was gone. "I shouldn't give you shit, then." Some of the vulgarity, at least. "If it's that bad. If - if you feel that bad, after."

  
Ryuji continued to play with his hair, and he realized that he was trying to fix it.

  
The touch of Ryuji's hand to his forehead warmed him even as the shame fought valiantly to overtake him, and he spoke without knowing what would come out. "I shouldn't be doing this. I. I shouldn't have done... this." He left his eyes closed, but he knew Ryuji was staring down at him. He felt Ryuji remove his fingers from his hair.

  
Ryuji got out of the car.

  
Of course he did. He'd just implied that Ryuji's presence was unwelcome. "Wait."

  
Through the windshield, he could see that Ryuji had seated himself on the hood of the car, his left leg bent at the knee and his right, the injured one, stretched out straight. He remained silent.

  
He sat up and finally realized that he'd simply left himself exposed and open to the air all this time. His face flushed hot as he hurriedly tucked himself away and zipped up his Metaverse suit, perhaps a little higher than he usually did. "Skull."

  
Ryuji stared out at the cognitive shapes that made up the customers in the distance, waiting patiently - for years; forever, if the Thieves failed - to enter a museum of falsehoods.

  
He settled in beside him, leaning against the car. "Skull. I didn't mean... " But he couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't know how to articulate what he did mean, let alone what he didn't.

  
But when Ryuji spoke, his voice was pleasant enough. Musing aloud, sounding as though he were letting his words fall where they would as they came to him. "You think they saw?"

  
"Who?"

  
"The - the customers. Those guys." He gestured with his chin toward the shapes lined up in the distance.

  
He immediately recognized what Ryuji was doing. But he wanted to hear it all the same. "Perhaps."

  
Ryuji spoke with more confidence. "Bet they did. Bet they just fuckin'... watched." He finally turned to him directly and grinned, and this time Yusuke was freed from his mixed feelings. He felt glad and only glad to see it.

  
But clearly Ryuji did not quite grasp the aim of their narrative. It wasn't about dragging the unwilling public into it at all, though that did seem to be a likely side effect, given their choice of location. It was about the destruction of the temple of greed by any means necessary. "I suppose a visitor may have caught a glimpse," Yusuke allowed. "That would be more than enough."

  
"Huge fuckin' scandal, right?"

  
"Imagine the public outcry if prospective visitors saw footage of us on the news."

  
"Footage?" Ryuji caught on quickly. "Yeah, somebody coulda filmed us on their phone, for sure. 'n nobody'd wanna go to a museum if they thought their car was gonna get broken into. If they thought - if they thought there was gonna be dudes fucking around in the parking lot. Right out in the open." He grinned again, a brief flash of white teeth glinting in the light coming through the windshield. "The news'd haveta get their mosaic guy to censor your - "

  
Yusuke leaned close and kissed him, still half bewildered, half impressed by his own audacity. The fact that he had already kissed Ryuji earlier did not make it any less unnerving now. His heart beat against his ribcage in a staccato frenzy, waiting for rejection - waiting for some larger power to tell him no, really - but the seconds spun out, and nothing came. He moved his lips against Ryuji's, warm and welcoming, and if what they were doing together was shameful, or wrong, there was no one there to tell him so.

  
He took strength from the fantasy that their time spent in the Palace had not gone to waste, just as he did every other time he had introduced the idea of desecration. And each time he'd introduced it, Ryuji had picked it up and carried it, as if to lighten the load for him. The concept of purposeful destruction, one step of many leading to the dismantling of the whole, was strangely comforting, as though it were linked to what the rest of the Thieves were helping him accomplish - ultimately, the obliteration of the Palace. His life had been dedicated to creation, but with the Thieves and, in secret, with Ryuji, he was able to indulge in destruction, as well.

  
It was satisfying.

  
But his satisfaction was underlaid with threads of unease. He knew he was shirking his responsibilities - not just to Madarame and to Kosei but to himself. He was an artist. Artists created, and aside from his redlines, the last few weeks had been the longest he had gone without doing so in his entire life, barring his infancy of course. Each minute that he spent with Ryuji was another minute that delayed his work, and the fact that he felt guilty enough to justify what they did within the Palace as art was, frankly, an insult to art itself.

  
It was an insult to _himself,_ too, just as the charade that Ryuji did not harbour feelings for Akira was. Just as the charade that Madarame was a caring, loving father, and that he gave him his paintings freely as tokens of respect.

  
Without meaning to, he sighed into Ryuji's mouth, a small, hushed sound of distress that Ryuji took for eagerness. Ryuji raised his hand to cradle the back of his neck, as if to bring them closer still, and Yusuke sighed again, this time at his touch. It was the same sound.

  
Perhaps it was wrong to fight it. Perhaps flinging his arms wide and giving too much of himself to someone who could not see it was the way it was for most. Or, if not for most, it was simply the way things would always be for him.

  
He'd spent too long losing himself to fantasies. It was time to come back down to earth.

  
He kissed Ryuji slowly and thoroughly, and made the best of things, as he always had.

\----------

Yusuke'd been all teeth the first time he'd kissed him, but he'd picked it up pretty quickly.

  
He finally pulled away, feeling like the parking lot was spinning. Just a bit. Like how the street looked like it was still moving, even after you'd stopped, if you'd been watching it go by during a car ride.

"Feelin' better?" he asked, after he'd gotten his breath back.

  
Yusuke looked away.

  
Ugh. Yusuke liked kissing just fine. Yusuke'd liked getting head just fine too, until it was over, at least. You didn't try to facefuck the guy doing it to you if you didn't like it, he figured. So this was just. Something else.

  
He didn't get how you were supposed to talk about it, though, so he just went for the direct approach and focused on sounding nice. "We're wreckin' the place, right? Givin' 'em bad press?" he said gently, and pried Yusuke's fingers up from the hood of the car so he could hold his hand.

  
No answer. Yusuke just looked at nothing.

  
He couldn't keep his voice nice anymore. "Did I do so bad? Seriously? C'mon, man. Gimme some pointers." He was starting to sound kind of desperate, actually, and he shut his mouth and grimaced until he thought of a way to make Yusuke understand. He craned his neck to get a look at his face. "Gimme a critique. You do that, right? At school? Art... critique? Tell me how I fucked it up so I can do better on the next one."

  
That approach was in the right neighbourhood. Talking art shit with him was practically always the right approach. It got Yusuke to look at him and open his mouth, then close it again, at least.

  
"Well? Ain't it art? If jizzin' on a statue of your dad can be art, I don't see why this can't be."

  
Yusuke was starting to look like his snarky old self again. Sounded like it, too. "You are declaring yourself an artist, then? You may be giving yourself too much credit."

  
"Just a beginner. Like. A fingerpainter, maybe."

  
He doubted he'd seen the last of the deadpan non-expression Yusuke wore so often, but right now, it was nowhere to be found. He watched the snark duke it out with something else on Yusuke's face, something nicer, and when Yusuke spoke, he realized it might have been appreciation. "I wouldn't critique you as harshly as that," he said begrudgingly.

  
It was a relief just to get him talking. "Oh yeah? I'm only gonna get better, you know. I just need your help."

  
Yusuke took his hand back, but it was only so he could move it somewhere else. "Ah. Art lessons," he said in his business as usual voice. What Ryuji thought of as his Kosei voice, though it wasn't like he'd ever seen him there or anything. Yusuke kept talking, too, in his Kosei voice, even as he reached out and grazed the back of his hand up and down Ryuji's hip. "But was that installation art? Or performance art?" He ran his knuckles up and over the bunched folds of his Metaverse suit, watching them change shape.

  
Yusuke actually seemed to expect an answer. "Dunno." They sounded the same to him.

  
"Was what you did for me - your art - dependent upon place, or upon your audience?"

  
Shit. Now he'd walked into an actual art lesson. "Uh. Is the audience those guys? Grey dudes?" He nodded towards the not-Shadows lined up to get into the museum.

  
Yusuke was still staring at his suit. Now he'd switched to running his fingertips over the material, keeping his touch light and ticklish. "In this case, yes, technically, but I was referring to myself. If you are the artist, then I am your audience."

  
This was like a logic puzzle or some shit. He wasn't good at those. "I mean, it'd be both. You're here, 'n you're the one gettin' it, so it's performance... art... ?"

  
Yusuke looked up long enough to give him an encouraging nod, then went back to studying his suit. Now Yusuke was squeezing his forearm, just gently, apparently watching the way the light hitting his arm changed when the plasticky material indented along with the muscle underneath it.

  
He took his arm back. He needed all of his brain cells working together on this one. "But it's in the museum. Close enough, anyway. So it's installation art, too. Right?"

  
"Either could be argued. But you must choose one. This is not the time to be an interdisciplinary artist."

  
It had been too fucking long of a day to learn a bunch of new vocab words at the end of it. Ryuji picked at random to humour him. Museums were where art belonged, so - "Kay, fine. Installation art."

  
Yusuke's face didn't change. Not really. If it did, it couldn't have been by much. His eyelids lowered a millimetre, or his face turned away by the width of a hair.

  
"No, performance art," he blurted out, trying to fix it. Too late.

  
"Which is your priority? Your audience, or the place?" Yusuke said, still in his Kosei voice.

  
What Yusuke was getting at finally hit home. "You're - you're askin' me if I'd do this for you outside? Outside the - the museum, somewhere?" His gut sank. "You think I _wouldn't?_ You think I'm - "

  
"Installation art is a respected discipline."

  
"Drop the art shit, alright? Talk normal. You think I'm fuckin' - _ashamed?_ Of you?"

  
Yusuke just spread his hands, like he was saying that the evidence supported it.

  
Fuck.

  
If making out with him, and getting him off, and being nice to him didn't tell Yusuke how he felt, then he didn't know what would.

  
And then he realized that that was the real problem. That was all he knew how to do. He had gotten by with his body - with running, with laughing his way out of arguments, with his _actions -_ for all his life, and when his mouth got him into trouble, he could usually shut it again before he could do too much permanent damage, as long as he smoothed things over with a sorry. Not always. But usually. That was how it had been with Ann, when they'd been closer, and that was still all he had to go by. The fact that he was trying to get this entire thing with Yusuke - if there _was_ a thing with Yusuke - off the ground based on how he'd acted for two or three weeks, two or three weeks of a lot of fucking around and not a whole helluva lot of talking, made him want to laugh at himself. Of course they'd been misunderstanding each other all night. Of course he kept pissing Yusuke off. He didn't know what the fuck he was doing. But Yusuke wouldn't get why he was laughing, so he kept it to himself.

  
Yusuke needed him to say shit out loud, that was all. He took a big breath, and gave himself the time to let it out slow. Yusuke was still just looking at him, deadpan, not looking the least bit upset despite what he'd just put out there. That didn't mean he wasn't, though.

  
"Fox," he said, and smiled. He took his hand again, and Yusuke let him. "You don't 'member the phone thing? I had you in my bed." He'd said a lot of embarrassing shit that night, but he wasn't embarrassed of that part. It was nice to think about. It didn't really matter that it was just a pretend thing. Phone sex thing. It was still nice. Yusuke was pretty clueless about a lot of what they did, or what Ryuji tried to start with him, at least, but he'd understood the pretend part once they'd gotten it going.

  
"You said that I would need to lay on top of you, because of my long legs," Yusuke said. He sounded like a robot.

  
Pretend probably wasn't enough, though. Now that it was out in the air, he could see why Yusuke'd be upset. Having to hide away with him in the museum and the museum only probably did make it all feel... dirty, or something. Like he really was ashamed of him. Or maybe Yusuke thought it was a closet thing, for him.

  
Maybe he wasn't ready to tell the whole fucking world, or whatever, but he didn't have to hide, either. "Yeah. 'n yesterday? When I was chatting with you in the morning, before school? I wanted to take you out."

  
Yusuke's face stayed just the same, blank and attentive, but his posture changed. His shoulders relaxed, and Ryuji's did too.

  
"I _want_ to see you outside. I fuckin' asked you out, man. You just about broke my heart when you said no." Now he finally did let himself laugh. It felt so much better to talk about it in the past tense, a thing that they'd both already put behind them, that he leaned forward to kiss Yusuke between laughs.

  
Yusuke's face looked better and worse, somehow. Smiling, but tight. "Would you classify your oeuvre as installation art, then? Or performance art?"

  
He was way too fucking tired for a pop quiz. "Aggh, just - I forget which is which, man. You tell me. I wanna see you outside the museum, okay? So you tell me what my oovruh is."

  
Yusuke's eyes went from his face, to his hip, where his suit bunched up in folds, to his hand, currently resting on Yusuke's shoulder. "It sounds like you're a performance artist to me."

  
Performance art was the one Yusuke liked, then. He locked that away for later reference and -

  
Yusuke's hand was creeping up his thigh.

  
Sometimes Yusuke switched gears quick enough to leave him behind. The art lecture was over. Time for Yusuke to go for his dick, apparently. "Uh - "

  
His heart was in his throat.

  
Yusuke's expression had some slack in it again. A more natural smile, now, not the tight mask he'd had on a few seconds ago. "If you stand upright, I can help you out of these belts," he offered.

  
Yusuke just wanted to touch him. Yusuke wanted the chance to return the favour, just once. But it was more than just that. It was a trust thing. It was a give and take thing. He knew that if he kept saying no, Yusuke wouldn't get why.

  
But he couldn't say yes, either. He hopped off the car and got out of reach. A weird wash of feelings hit him, and he realized that he was just as relieved to get away from Yusuke as he was disappointed with himself that he still had to do this same stupid fucking dance. His brain was determined to make him feel like shit, whether he gave in and said yes or stayed strong and said no.

  
No more deadpan face. Yusuke's sharp features were twisted and ugly, now. Not a face you'd want to see coming at you down a dark alley. But it was Yusuke, it was still _Yusuke,_ too, the guy he was falling all over himself to spend time with, and it wasn't fair to think he looked ugly, or that he wouldn't understand. His problem didn't make any fucking _sense,_ not even to him. Yusuke was smart as shit about some things and sort of oblivious about others, but it wasn't Yusuke's fault he didn't know about this.

  
So he'd try. He could try to make it make sense. He came back to Yusuke, literally dragging his feet, and sat on the hood of the car again. Yusuke abruptly moved away as he did, getting down to the asphalt. But it was only to stand between his legs and wrap his arms around him, sudden enough to make him jump.

  
He wasn't expecting it. Yusuke giving him a rough hug - almost more of a fullbody _yank_ than a hug - while he still looked so pissed at him was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and it just about did him in. "You don't get it, okay?" His voice came out funny, so he took a moment to get it back to where it was supposed to be. "If - if it goes bad - if my head goes bad, then I'm thinkin' of the wrong shit. I don't wanna think of the wrong shit. I wanna think of you."

  
Shit. He couldn't believe he'd just put that out there.

  
Yusuke's voice went deep. Deeper than usual. Slow and careful, heard as much through his chest, pressed up against the side of Ryuji's face, as through his mouth. "And who is the alternative?"

  
Too late to take it back now. Maybe the reason Yusuke's face had looked like that hadn't been because of his problem at all. "You know. You already know who."

  
Yusuke stepped back and said nothing.

  
"Listen - "

  
As he spoke, Yusuke mumbled something to himself at the same time. Something about being a fool.

  
_"Listen._ It's different. I ain't into him. It's done."

  
Yusuke took another step back, and now his face was too terrible to look at, so he didn't.

  
"I know you don't believe me. I don't know what to _say_ to make you believe me. I just. It's done, okay? _I'm_ done."

  
"You told me you imagine yourself in bed with Joker," Yusuke spat. He'd seen Yusuke pissed off a couple times now, not just snitty but really pissed off, but he'd never heard him like this. His voice was still deep but strangled, too, like he could barely get the words out. "You - you spent a great deal of time alone with him in the safe room, and when you came out, you were - " He swallowed. "It's too much. It's. It's too much to ask of me, to keep up this charade."

  
"Fox. Fuck. I - whaddyou think happened in there? I told you - "

  
Yusuke's voice was shaking now. He usually sounded so sure of himself, like he knew what to say before he said it, like he'd _practiced_ it or some shit, but now his words just... came out, here and there, all broken up. His voice had gone high, too, for him. "I. I wish you'd tell me. I wish you'd - I don't understand. I know I don't understand what others do. I need you to - I need you to just t-tell me - "

  
Yusuke was crying.

  
"Aw, god, don't - " He held out his arms, up there on the hood of the car, and Yusuke came to him.

  
What the fuck were you supposed to do when someone was crying? He'd had a few occasions to figure it out - more than a few, if you counted his mom - and he still didn't know. He got his arms around Yusuke's shoulders, broad but bony, and hugged his hips with his legs, too. He buried his face into Yusuke's chest, the V of skin left by the zipper of his suit, and held him tight, like that could stop the way Yusuke was shaking from the effort of trying not to make a sound.

  
He'd literally told him not to, he realized. "Just. Just fuckin' cry, man. S'okay. Just do it."

  
The sound of it dug into him, under his skin, and he just stared out over Yusuke's shoulder at the parking lot, glassy eyed, as he felt every noise Yusuke made. The back of his neck got wet, but whatever. They stayed like that, clinging together, until Yusuke's breathing finally evened out and he pulled back, covering the lower half of his face with one hand.

  
His red scarf thing served no real purpose, unless this was it. He untied the fresh new one that had materialized as they'd wavered back into the parking lot and handed it to Yusuke, who used it thoroughly, front and back.

  
Yusuke tried to hand it back to him, too.

  
"I don't fuckin' want it _back - "_ Ugh. He was awful at this. "It's fine, it's fine, just drop it on the ground - "

  
Now Yusuke just stood there, looking lost. Bleak.

  
Ryuji held out his arms again, and Yusuke came back.

  
He'd already tried to explain it twice. Maybe he'd get it right the third time. "Okay, so, the thing in the safe room," he announced, mumbling into Yusuke's neck. "I didn't - I didn't start it. Joker sorta backed me into the corner. Against the wall. I was... " He didn't want to say it. It didn't feel like the time for it. But Yusuke'd said he needed it explained, so that meant saying every word. "Hard. I was hard. Cuz of the bullshit. Cuz of - cuz of what had me like that the whole fucking infiltration."

  
Yusuke let out a watery sigh above him, his chin digging into the top of Ryuji's head. "What were you thinking of? What was the cause, today?"

  
"Kept thinkin' I'd get kicked off the team."

  
"Why would that arouse you?"

  
He'd already _explained_ this. He'd said it over and over. But it hadn't made sense from day one, and taking it out on Yusuke wasn't going to help. "It's the bullshit. It's my problem. Remember? Sad shit does it. Thinkin' of, like. Joker bein' disappointed in me. Joker shitcannin' me." Time to start a list. "Panther bein' ashamed of what we did. Panther ashamed to have me as her first kiss." Further back than that, too. "Stupid old shit with my dad, even. It ain't like that - I ain't tryna _think_ of my dad, I ain't _that_ fucked up - "

  
Yusuke was nice. Could be nice. He got what he wanted and gave him some reassurance, even though he'd been the one crying a minute ago. "No, of course not," he murmured, his voice still all foggy.

  
" - so it's just. You know. Sad shit." But that wasn't all of it. It was time to drag it all out. Burn it with daylight. He gritted his teeth and made himself do it. "I was into Joker. Before. I thought he was hot. So - so I think the bullshit sorta used him. For a while the bullshit started it - " He remembered who he was talking to, scrunched up his face against Yusuke's neck, and made himself make it crystal clear. "For a while the bullshit was what got me _turned on,_ right, it got me _hard,_ when I didn't wanna be, 'n then that was when I did think of him. Joker. I did try to think of him. Before. I. I liked to pretend we were fucking in the museum. In my bed. I used to think of him bein' nice to me. Bein' my first."

  
"And then?" Yusuke's voice came out sounding very small.

  
"'n then I started trying to fight it. The bullshit. I got sick of bein' like that. I _am_ sick of bein' like that. I wanna be good. I want it to be _over."_ He was starting to realize the truth of it as he said it. "And. The bullshit changed him. The Joker in my head. Now it wasn't about him 'n me together. Now it was about all the shit he could do to me. Bench me again, like the infiltration before last. Bench me for _good._ Kick me the fuck _out._ Or he could find out about my problem 'n tell everybody. There's a lot of shit he could do, if he wanted. In my head. That's why I got so close to smashing my phone, you know? I just. I just want it to be done."

  
"You'd give up being a Phantom Thief?"

  
"Felt like it woulda been a good trade. If it worked that way. If wrecking my phone woulda turned it off." He sighed. "I thought of you, though."

  
Yusuke just waited.

  
"This whole thing we're doin'. This museum. Palace. It's for you. Like, you 'n all the old pupils, and any new pupils, too, I guess, but it's you I think of. When I start thinkin' about smashing my phone again." He grimaced. "I still think of him. If I'm havin' a bad day. If I get like that. The bullshit uses him because - because he's the leader. There's a lot of shit he could do. Or it uses him just cuz I was so fuckin' obsessed with him for a while. But I don't think of him like that anymore. Like. Sex. I - " He was hit with something so obvious that it almost felt too stupid to bother saying it out loud. But he did. "Fox, I thought he was _nice,_ but he ain't. I used to think of him bein' nice 'n lovey dovey or whatever - kissin' me - but he ain't like that. If he were nice then - then the shit in the safe room wouldn't have happened. Some part of me knew he wasn't nice, I guess, 'n it turned the bullshit from fucking or whatever into mean shit like him tellin' everybody how I am. Kickin' me off the team n' fuckin'... _gloating_ about it. I _knew_ he wasn't nice. So the bullshit just went from sex to - to whatever would still work on me."

  
"You don't... think of him? In that way?"

  
If he'd been heading toward that already, on his own, then the shit with Akira in the saferoom had just cemented it. "No. I don't," he said, firm. "I don't. I - " Do or die. Just do it. Just fucking do it. "I wanna be with you."

  
Maybe Yusuke would've said something, then, if he'd let him, but he had to give it his best shot. He had to know that he'd at least tried. "I think of you all the time. I. I just wanna see you every day. Even if it ain't the shit we get up to in the museum. Or the phone thing. I just wanna talk to you - I'd even just pose for you, for real, if that's what you wanted to do - " He cut his rambling short and listened hard, his face still buried between Yusuke's neck and his bigass collar.

  
"Would you pose for me?" Yusuke asked, surprised.

  
_"That's_ what you got outta that?!" He lifted his head and put enough space between them to get a good look at his face.

  
Yusuke was smiling. Asshole. He still couldn't tell Yusuke's weird sense of humour from sheer shit for brains obliviousness, a lot of the time.

  
"Am I to understand that you and Joker did not... ?"

  
Maybe he got it now. Ryuji leaned back and rested his weight on his hands on top of the hood of the car, studying Yusuke's face as he answered. This was a thing you looked the other person in the eye for. "No, man. He told me I better get my shit together, 'n he fuckin' shoved my belts down," he said, waving his hands at them, crisscrossed across his hips. "So I'd be. Like. Exposed. 'n then he got too close, up against me, 'n then - " He'd forgotten to tell Yusuke this part. "He was fuckin' hard _too._ What's _his_ excuse, huh? He just _showed_ me he was, 'n then he covered it up, 'n then he fuckin' - he fuckin' went back out and left me there."

  
"What do you think his intentions were?"

  
"You're askin' me like I know."

  
The smile was long gone. Yusuke looked different, now - curious? No. Cautious, maybe. "You compared it to the time you and I spent together. At the wall." He nodded towards the wall of the museum behind Ryuji. "And - you seem upset about what Joker did."

  
That was a hell of an understatement. "Uh. Yeah."

  
There was a line between Yusuke's eyebrows. "Did I upset you, when - "

  
Aw. "No. C'mere." He yanked Yusuke close by his sash thing and kissed him hard and quick, like he had on the roof. He'd forgotten how nice it was to be able to do that. You could just skip over words and tell somebody how you felt that way. Easy. "You'd know the difference if you were there. Joker was fuckin' teasin' me." But Yusuke'd been confused by that the last time he'd tried to explain this fucked up thing, so he searched until he figured out a better word. "No, he _taunted_ me. It was shitty. It wasn't _hot,_ it was just. He was bein' an asshole. It felt like that, anyway."

  
"Then, when you and I - "

  
He dove into the new topic like his life depended on it. "Fox. Stoppit. I didn't like hearin' that you weren't even fuckin' _awake_ for it, later, but when we were in it, I thought it was - Like. I loved gettin' you off like that. I - " Might as well dump all his shit out. He'd already gotten everything about Akira out of the way, so he might as well. "Shit. Were you dreamin' about fucking me? It felt like you were. You coulda been, almost. Even if you were a few inches off the mark."

  
There was enough light flooding out of the car's windshield for him to see Yusuke's face going redder and redder.

  
He let enough silence go by to guess that Yusuke wasn't going to answer that. "Well. Anyway. No. Similar position, or whatever, but it felt totally different."

  
Yusuke looked embarrassed all to shit, but he did look a lot better, overall. He got back up on the hood of the car next to him and wiped his eyes with his thumb. "I am sorry you had to see that," he said, changing the subject.

  
"You've seen me cry. Sometimes you need a good cry. You're s'posed to."

  
Yusuke turned that over in his head for a minute. "What would happen if you were unable to?"

  
"It ain't like you'd - you wouldn't get sick, or anything." What a weirdass question. "Crying's for makin' you feel better, that's all."

  
"I have been unable to for... years." He said it like he'd just realized it.

  
"Huh." What did _that_ mean? If somebody cried all the time, you'd call them sad or depressed or whatever, he figured. But somebody wanting to cry and not being able to get it out felt sadder. It made him feel sad just to think about it. "Well, did it work?"

  
Yusuke laid his palm against his own chest, like he was checking if his heart was still there. "It may be too soon to tell."

  
That meant he was still feeling shitty, of course. But he had an idea of what might fix it. Yusuke was quiet again, so he used the time to psyche himself up.

  
He could feel his brain try to put down more roadblocks, but he muscled past them. He wasn't a fucking monk, he told himself. He hadn't taken a vow of silence, and he hadn't taken a vow of celibacy, either. He was trying to be better, but that didn't mean he _couldn't,_ anymore. And it didn't mean he shouldn't, either. He'd said yes during the phone thing, while he'd had Yusuke's deep fucking voice in his ear, and it'd be even better to have Yusuke right in front of him. It'd be _good._ Even if Yusuke sucked at it - and he would, he decided; there was no way Yusuke'd had the time to get good at anything, basic handjobs included - it'd still be good, because it was Yusuke.

  
If things got bad, he could think of his sheets. If things got _really_ bad, Yusuke would stop if he told him to.

  
It'll be good, and you want it, and it'll make him happy, so just -

  
"Y-you still up for it?"

  
"Hm?"

  
It felt weird to just ask for it, after all the lame delaying and deflecting and cringing he'd done. And Yusuke didn't like his mouth, a lot of the time. He finally settled on, "You still offerin' me... somethin'?"

  
Yusuke stayed motionless until Ryuji stood upright and started to shimmy out of his belts. His eyes widened, and he closed the distance before the belts had hit the ground. He'd gone soft since he'd given Yusuke head, but Yusuke was already doing his best to get him back up, stroking him through his suit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to god that they will get out of this goddamn parking lot by next chapter lmao
> 
> Also I am dead certain that I have oversimplified performance and installation art, and possibly gotten them wrong altogether. Please forgive me
> 
> This chapter was [beautifully illustrated](https://twitter.com/thephilosophah/status/1043223493918121984) by @thephilosophah  
> Thank you so much for the fanart!


	24. White Flag

Yusuke had been forced to reevaluate so much of his own thinking about Ryuji and how Ryuji felt for him in the last hour or so that, ordinarily, it would have been enough to keep his thoughts occupied for days to come. He was accustomed to thinking, not doing, aside from painting of course, and his mind was well suited for long stretches of uninterrupted brainstorming, paying no heed to his body or the world around him.

  
But, ordinarily, he wouldn't have had such a rare opportunity as this. He set aside his thoughts of everything that had changed and focused on his task as best he could.

  
He traced his fingertips down the front of Ryuji's slick suit, finding his target and feeling it tentatively. It was far too dark to make out details through the material, so he studied it with his sense of touch alone and tried to commit it to memory. It felt foreign to him, not at all like that part of himself when felt from this angle, but that only made him more determined to see it clearly when the time was right.

  
He glanced at his katana, still leaning against a nearby car, but decided against using it just yet.

  
Ryuji made things difficult. He was often animated, but right now, pressed between the side of the car and Yusuke, he was downright twitchy. He was breathing loudly, and nearly every movement of Yusuke's hand elicited a seemingly involuntary reaction from him. First his knee abruptly nudged Yusuke's leg, and then he suddenly jolted fully upright before slouching down to his original position. It was when Ryuji outright recoiled, jerking his head and shoulders away but leaving the rest of his body within reach that Yusuke finally stilled his hand.

  
This wasn't quite what he'd imagined.

  
When Ryuji tended to him, it was true that the shame did its level best to talk him out of it. Each time, he thought of his unfinished paintings, or how what he was doing would look to someone walking in on them. But Ryuji had some sort of pull to him that made him want to move past the shame and endure what he offered - not only endure what was offered but _enjoy_ it, too. Ryuji made it seem worthwhile to try.

  
As much as he hated to admit it, Ryuji always seemed to know just how to move his hand or his mouth to - to please him. And Ryuji had certainly seemed to enjoy himself the other times Yusuke had seen him, half-hidden in his corner or in front of the statue, when things had been left to him.

  
Ryuji did not seem to be enjoying himself right now, though, now that it was Yusuke's turn.

  
It had to be his lack of experience. Ryuji had made every effort to satisfy him, and seemed to care deeply about how successful he had been, too. He remembered Ryuji begging him for feedback afterward, and thought he finally understood why.

  
"Skull. Direct me."

  
Ryuji had been staring at the sky, or perhaps the Palace, over Yusuke's shoulder, apparently failing to notice that he had stopped moving his hand. Now Ryuji's eyes snapped back to his. "Huh?" Ryuji's chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as though he struggled to catch his breath.

  
He tilted his head to get a better look at the front of Ryuji's suit. For all the time he'd spent touching Ryuji, he wasn't even fully erect - he could tell by the way Ryuji felt beneath his fingertips. Clearly he needed more practice.

  
It was a challenge, that was all, not so different from when he experimented with an unfamiliar media at Kosei. Sculpture came to mind. It was frustrating at first simply because, at this point, he was used to picking up his brush and immediately seeing results appear on the canvas. Instant gratification without needing to put forth any especial effort beyond moving his hand back and forth in a way that felt automatic and close to mindless now. But those results were borne from a lifetime of practice, and he knew that if he persevered, his patience would be rewarded.

  
He leaned close and kissed him, not knowing why he did, but Ryuji did not reciprocate. "Is - is there something I'm not doing that I should be?" He moved his hand again, skimming his fingers up and down where he could feel Ryuji through his suit.

  
He watched Ryuji come back to himself, his eyes finally focusing as his mouth, sometimes clever, sometimes upsetting, turned down at the corners. "It ain't you." He pulled away, and Yusuke recognized the look on his face very well.

  
"There is no reason to be ashamed."

  
Ryuji let out a harsh sigh. "It's just my... problem. You know. Same old bullshit."

  
He still found Ryuji's problem baffling. "But your problem leads to inappropriate arousal."

  
They both looked down at where he'd left his hand. This was not inappropriate arousal.

  
Now Ryuji was stammering. Angry. "Then I guess I got a brand _new_ problem. From worryin' about my _old_ problem. From - from worryin' that it's gonna fuckin' sneak up on me if I let you - like - cuz I don't _get_ to just... "

  
Ryuji didn't sound as though he was going to finish that thought. Yusuke was at a loss.

  
_Did_ Ryuji actually want this? With him? Ryuji's body language often spoke more eloquently than he did, and right now his face, averted, and his hands, clutching the hood of the car as if to keep it in place beneath him, said that Ryuji was far from ready.

  
He removed his hand and took a step back, and Ryuji visibly relaxed.

  
He felt a small pang of bitterness and hid it quickly. This didn't mean that Ryuji didn't trust him. Or it didn't have to, at least. It was a problem that Ryuji had little control over, and he would just have to try to remember that.

  
Oh. Control. "Is this a situation that calls for your sheets?" he hazarded.

  
Realization washed over Ryuji's face, and if Yusuke could have been in two places at once, his other self would have been hard at work at his easel, capturing that half pleased, half shocked expression on canvas. It wouldn't be a painting for Madarame. It would be a painting just for him. "Dunno. Lemme try it," Ryuji said.

  
He had the strange experience of watching Ryuji close his eyes and shut him out. He kept his breathing quiet and stood, statue-like, in a cognitive parking lot as Ryuji got his own breathing under control. Some of the tension left Ryuji's shoulders and back and seemed to travel down his arms: Yusuke caught a small movement and noticed Ryuji was clenching his fists. Not tightly, and perhaps not intentionally. Instead Ryuji's hands twitched now and then, closing into loose fists before releasing again.

  
A minute or two later, Ryuji opened his eyes. "Let's, uh. Let's try it again." The muscles of Ryuji's arms and shoulders had gone slack again. The nervous energy was gone.

  
He took a step closer, and they both looked down at the front of Ryuji's suit.

  
Ryuji sounded defensive. "I mean, you gotta _touch_ it, first."

  
He sighed, relieved. Ryuji did trust him. The ridiculous stalling and pretext had been part of Ryuji's problem, or were Ryuji's way of keeping his problem in check, perhaps. He smiled. "Have I earned back my privileges?"

  
Ryuji stepped close to place his hands on Yusuke's hips, then leaned backwards against the side of the car, pulling him with him as he did. "Your what?"

  
He was afraid of this. He'd hoped Ryuji would know what he meant and grin at him - no, he'd hoped Ryuji would _laugh,_ that was the truth of it. But now he might have to actually say it. "Do you remember? When we were on one of the couches, inside the Palace?"

  
Ryuji shook his head.

  
Ah. He saw a way around it. He lowered his head and leaned his legs, closed, between Ryuji's open thighs and began to touch him again. He kept his thumb moving, slowly drawing an invisible line and reinforcing it, back and forth, as though he were shaping clay. "You told me that if I did not take pleasing you seriously, you would take away my - " He squeezed Ryuji there, just lightly, instead of saying the word. " - privileges. Remember?"

  
It was good enough. Ryuji's surprised laughter was his reward, and the sound of it put a spark in his chest. He let it flood him with warmth, from the top of his head to the soles of his boots, as he pressed closer and closer, kissing Ryuji's jaw, the point of his cheekbone, his neck. He moved his hand, too, gentle but thorough, and now he finally had proof that Ryuji enjoyed his touch. He heard it in the way Ryuji broke off mid-laugh, his face just below his chin, and he felt it in the way Ryuji moved beneath his hand, finally hard and eager. Yusuke smiled, and kissed his skin, and listened to him begin to laugh again, then taper off, knowing it had been for him.

  
He was learning. Skill came with practice, that was all.

  
"Yeah. I think. H-heh. I think you got your dick privileges back," Ryuji gasped into his chest. "Think you'd better... "

  
Was it that overwhelming? He felt proud, now, too, proud to be able to distract so well that Ryuji couldn't finish his sentence. He traced Ryuji with his fingertips - his contours, the curves of the tip, where he knew it was most sensitive -

  
Ryuji groaned and put his hand on his to stop him, putting his words in order with an effort. "Think you'd better cut me out," he finished. "I want it so bad, man, you got no idea."

  
The shame was so thoroughly vanquished that he felt drunk with its absence. Brave. He realized that Ryuji's vulgarity hadn't even fazed him this time. "What is it that you want? Tell me," he demanded.

  
Ryuji leaned in and pressed his forehead to his chest, speaking without looking at him. "I. I been good. I been good for two whole days. I almost wasn't, I almost _gave in,_ but I didn't."

  
He didn't understand what sounded like a non sequitur until he thought about it for a moment. "You mean that - " He cleared his throat and pulled away enough to look Ryuji in the eye. "Do you mean that you - you deserve this?"

  
It was a strange thought. The idea that what had so ashamed him in the past was what Ryuji sought as relief, after avoiding it for so long. The idea that Ryuji thought of it as a reward, or at least something to be kept out of reach until it was earned.

  
But Ryuji did not look at all certain. His face broadcast his fear that it would be taken away from him. Or perhaps that he was wrong to want it so badly. "Yeah?" His voice was just as unsure.

  
They'd reversed their roles completely. He was the one to offer to Ryuji, and Ryuji was the one who needed convincing. And now he understood the truth of it. Ryuji needed reassurance, nothing more. "You do," Yusuke declared. "You do deserve to - " He veered away from the word just before it could leave his lips. "You do deserve it."

  
He pressed the palm of his hand against that shape, as if to underline his words, and the way Ryuji gasped and tossed his head to the side got his feet moving before he could think twice. He strode to where he had propped his katana against a nearby car and unsheathed it.

  
\----------

  
When Yusuke applied the edge of his katana against the synthetic material of Ryuji's suit, nothing happened.

  
He'd been expecting it, of course. It was his own suit that eagerly split at the slightest touch of the blade, as if the metal had been heated. When he'd made his redlines, his suit had helped him with his art, springing apart upon contact in anticipation of the cut - almost _before_ the cut. And his katana loved flesh, and pulled towards it.

  
But not _Ryuji's_ flesh. He'd discovered this back at the statue, the first time, the time that they had ultimately been unsuccessful. Ryuji's flesh, or Ryuji's suit, or both, repelled his blade slightly, and he'd needed to apply more force than should have been necessary to make a hole in such a thin material.

  
The same was true now. He adjusted his grip, first on his katana in one hand and then on the bunch of material in his other hand, and cut again, and this time he felt the material part in a tiny slit.

  
Ryuji was so impatient that he had his fingers in the opening before Yusuke could sheathe his katana, wrenching at it with both hands until it stretched wide with a purr.

  
Perhaps he was impatient himself. He set his sword down against the same car, took the two long strides back to Ryuji, and wrapped his fingers around him.

  
Ryuji sobbed, a needy sort of sound that had an interesting effect on him, albeit one that he chose to ignore for the time being. He kissed Ryuji, really just leaving his mouth there as he worked him in his hand.

  
They were skin to skin now. He'd never felt Ryuji in this way - he'd never been _allowed_ to feel Ryuji in this way - and one part of him recorded each sensation coldly, analytically, while another part of him revelled in it. Hot puffs of Ryuji's breath against his lips and face as he circled that part of him in his fingers. A tremor in Ryuji's legs that he felt through his own as he slipped the pad of his thumb over the slit at the tip.

  
Ryuji was slick there, more than he'd expected, and it reminded him of what Ryuji had done for him.

  
When Ryuji had knelt on the asphalt of the parking lot and taken him into his mouth, Yusuke had thought of the Sayuri.

  
It was an uneven exchange. The Sayuri had been his reason for going on - the reason he'd held over his head, at least. The excuse, really. But it was a lie.

  
The Sayuri was both a lie itself in a literal way, in the way that Madarame had forged dozens of counterfeits in its likeness, and it had come to represent a different lie, too, the lie that Madarame cared for him. The Sayuri was a symbol of the ideal he endured everything else for. That it was worth a little discomfort and a few surrendered paintings if it meant there was a chance of creating anything half as beautiful as the Sayuri.

  
It was a lie and he'd known it. He'd known for years. Madarame took from him, and he let him. The Sayuri was the pretty face of it, and it was becoming less and less pretty by the day.

  
Ryuji had pleased him with his mouth, and the fact that it had been his own idea didn't make it any less degrading to him. Ryuji had pleased him with his mouth willingly, _gladly,_ but that didn't mean Yusuke wasn't taking from him. Another uneven exchange. A lie.

  
But if he changed the terms -

  
He released Ryuji and instead took hold of his elbows, one in each hand. He ignored his confused protests and maneuvered Ryuji, step by step, until he was standing in front of the car door, still open. Then he placed one hand on the back of Ryuji's head, put the other palm flat on his belly, exposed now through the slit in his suit, and folded Ryuji neatly in half until he dropped to the backseat with a thump.

  
"W-what're you - "

  
It couldn't be classified as an uneven exchange if he returned in kind. It would be closer to a favour. Something he chose to give.

  
Giving was different than being taken from. He knelt in front of Ryuji.

  
Ryuji's voice was hushed. Fond. "You wanna suck me off?"

  
The shame tried. He had to recognize its efforts. It called to mind images of Akira and the others returning to the Palace unexpectedly, only to discover him in this position, with Ryuji's - with Ryuji in his hand. It called to mind images of _Madarame_ discovering him like this, and reminding himself that that should be impossible did little to dispel the fear of it happening.

  
The shame did its best. But he finally gave it the slip and, instead of responding, took the opportunity to look at Ryuji for as long as he wanted.

  
He'd never taken the time to study this part of the human body, he realized. It didn't look like this in the paintings in his textbooks, of course, and when they painted models at Kosei, they remained clothed, even if only minimally.

  
Not that the models would have looked like this, even if they had been nude.

  
The light from the interior of the car picked out the edges of Ryuji's skin and, more interestingly, left a bright specular highlight on the head. It emphasized its shape, round and appealing, and he tilted his face this way and that, watching how the highlight changed. The skin here was dark in colour - flushed, really - but much more reflective than he would have expected. If he squeezed lightly, his fingers indented the skin, and the light -

  
"Dude, you're _killin'_ me."

  
He sighed ruefully. Maybe Ryuji would allow him to take a photo another time so he could study it for his own reference. Another time and some other place, when they were both outside the Metaverse, since their phones did not function inside it.

  
Things had changed so quickly. It didn't feel so terrible to think that there might be another time, now that he knew how Ryuji felt for him. Now that he knew how Ryuji _didn't_ feel for Akira, too. And some other place - he wondered where they could -

  
"You don't have to."

  
Ryuji must have been feeling impatient. But his voice was kind. He meant what he said.

  
It didn't have to be shameful. It was a gesture of care. Ryuji had shown him how he felt with his actions, because that was what came easily to him, and he could do the same. He could try, at least.

  
He held Ryuji steady with his right hand and brought his mouth close, marvelling again at how slick he was. Ryuji really did want this, just as he'd said. He almost got lost in the highlights again, this time in the tiny glints of light reflected in the wetness collected at the tip, but he shut his eyes before he could become sidetracked and tasted it instead.

  
Strange.

  
He kept stopping, then starting again, cataloguing sensations, and he knew now from the way Ryuji had treated him that that must be counterproductive. He felt Ryuji with his tongue, doing his best to keep his mouth in motion, and wondered how he was doing.

  
"You want my kneepads?"

  
What? He opened his eyes.

  
"The - the parking lot. 's probly rough on your knees. Right?"

  
He was positioned in a way that had his weight resting on his feet and ankles, where his boots covered him, more than his knees. "I am alright." He closed his eyes and stuck out his tongue again.

  
"I like it, but. You want a tip?"

  
Senseless indignation flared inside him, but he tamped it down in time. He was accustomed to treating unsolicited critique with disdain, especially when it came from a peer, but this situation called for more humility than that. He was used to his skills being recognized and respected, but frankly, he hadn't earned that in this field yet. "Please, guide me."

  
"Feels better if you use your mouth."

  
"I don't understand." He _had_ been using his mouth -

  
Ryuji pantomimed, bringing his loosely curled fist to his own mouth and pretending that he was - Yusuke looked away in a hurry. It was bizarrely appealing but made him recoil at the same time, the shame warring with what he was coming to realize was probably simple attraction. Why had it taken him so long to recognize such a basic feeling? He enjoyed what Ryuji did for him - he enjoyed what Ryuji _looked_ like - even as some part of himself dug in its heels and denied facts. It was ridiculous. _He_ was ridiculous.

  
No one was going to discover them here. No one was going to tell him that he was behaving shamefully. Right now he only had Ryuji's opinion to concern himself with, and if he put the effort in, he felt confident that he could pick this skill up, too. He finally stopped licking tentatively, opened his mouth and took Ryuji in fully.

  
This felt strange too, but Ryuji's immediate reaction helped him move past it. He sighed above him, his eyes fluttering closed, and Yusuke closed his own eyes again as he set a rhythm. He could feel Ryuji's pulse thrumming against his lip on one side of his mouth, a small but steady tickling, as he bobbed his head, showing Ryuji the same kind of care that he had already shown to him.

  
Ryuji did not offer further direction, so he assumed that meant he had improved. He experimented, moving his tongue against the underside, and Ryuji's foot moved abruptly, his boot scraping against the asphalt. Was that a good sign or a bad one? He tried bringing his hand up to meet his lips, too, wrapping his fingers around Ryuji as he moved his head, and now he knew he was doing better. Ryuji hissed in a breath and let it out in a whisper, something littered with profanity, and though Yusuke thought he knew what the words were, they had no effect on him.

  
Let Ryuji be vulgar. Perhaps this was exactly the time for it. Perhaps, when the words came out in that fervent tone, like a prayer under his breath, they were meant as a compliment.

  
He gained confidence and decided to experiment further. He took Ryuji all the way to the back of his mouth, his limit, then returned his lips to the head and _sucked,_ and now Ryuji's knees knocked against him as he cried out, low but clearly audible.

  
"God, fuck, Fox - _fuck - "_

  
He'd have smiled if his mouth weren't full. He felt one of Ryuji's hands settle on his shoulder. The other rested on the top of his head, a warm, comforting weight -

  
He was standing and several feet away before he could register what had happened. His heart beat itself against his ribcage like a bird in a box.

  
Madarame - Madarame was in his head - why did he -

  
"What? What?" Ryuji blinked.

  
He didn't have an answer. The shame had returned, muddying everything.

  
"I - I wasn't gonna push you - " Ryuji stammered. "I wasn't gonna hold your head down, or whatever - "

  
It had felt _pleasant,_ so why did he feel so - why were his thoughts suddenly filled with -

  
"I'm sorry," he said slowly as he took one step forward, then another. "I was reminded of... "

  
"What? Reminded of _what?"_

  
A few more steps forward, and now he was back where he'd been kneeling. He eased himself back down to his knees and stared at the ground between them. "Madarame." He let himself look up at Ryuji's face.

  
Naked horror, then sympathy - ugh - played across it in quick succession. "You mean he - you _don't_ mean he - do you? Did he?"

  
What a foolish question. He let his face show what he thought of it. "Of course not."

  
"Well I don't fuckin' know! You ain't sposed to be thinkin' of your - your _dad - "_

  
The panic had faded. It was only a false association. A misfire in his brain. "He - he placed his hand on my head in a similar manner yesterday. The way he did when I was a child. It, ah. It _felt_ similar, I mean."

  
" ...oh."

  
He leaned closer between Ryuji's knees and tried to wrap his fingers around him again, but Ryuji exhaled heavily through his nose and shook his head.

  
"But - "

  
"Don't worry about it, man. You don't have to."

  
He wasn't a quitter. "No, but I will." He brought his face close, but Ryuji rested his hand on his shoulder again, lightly, and leaned forward to take himself out of reach.

  
"Unh unh. Come on up here with me." Ryuji lifted his feet from the asphalt, swinging his legs up and into the backseat of the car, and as he slid along the seat to make room, the interior light finally went out with a click.

  
"This one lasted significantly longer," he observed, as he settled in next to Ryuji in the car. He didn't particularly care, but Ryuji had seemed to attach some kind of significance to the length of time the cars had spent in the cognitive parking lot, before, when their first car's battery had died.

  
"Yeah." Ryuji shrugged. Perhaps he cared less than he'd thought. His face was a mystery in the dim blue light, an indistinct shape, but when he came near, Yusuke understood him well enough.

  
Ryuji kissed him, and though he'd kissed him so many times already today, it felt like more. Ryuji kissed him slowly and carefully, like he hadn't just rebuffed him - like he was offering reassurance, Yusuke realized. He let Ryuji's tongue inside his mouth and sighed, and as his mind was occupied, his hand crept into Ryuji's lap with a will all its own. He stroked him, then, something that was still new enough to feel clumsy and strange, but the way Ryuji shivered was enough to lay his fears to rest.

  
Apparently it would be difficult for him to return what Ryuji had done for him in kind, but it was alright. Their time together had been uneven all along, up until now, but now Ryuji trusted him enough to allow him this, so he was going to do his best.

  
It did seem to be a lengthy process, though. Several minutes had gone by. He moved his hand, up and down, up and down, without any signs of progression.

  
Ryuji must have picked up on his consternation. "Just - just do what you do by yourself."

  
Ah. His grip was too tight then. He loosened his fingers and kept his hand moving.

  
A frustrated groan. "Okay, _not_ what you do by yourself." It was hard to see his face in the dark, but he thought Ryuji was wryly amused. Perhaps moreso at himself than he was at him. "You're like. Ready to go off from nothin'. I take a lotta work. Sorry."

  
"If I injure my painting arm, I will hold you personally responsible."

  
Ryuji snorted. "Kay. I'll send your teachers a note. 'Please excuse Fox from art class. He has to rest up from jerkin' me off.' Sound good?"

  
He darted forward and kissed him angrily, putting his irritation with Ryuji into action instead of words, and it must have traveled down to his hand as well as his mouth. Ryuji groaned appreciatively and broke off long enough to say, "Yeah, like that," before kissing him back.

  
Something about what he was doing was closer to the mark. Ryuji grew more and more restless. He was twitchy all over again, the way he'd been before he'd concentrated on thoughts of his sheets, though Yusuke guessed from the motions Ryuji was making that he was in a better state of mind. He bore down with his hand, ignoring the burn in the muscles of his arm for the sake of the end goal, but Ryuji surprised him by suddenly clambering into his lap and straddling him.

  
"I am not your _furniture - "_

  
"I'm gettin' a crick in my neck," Ryuji complained. But this time, when Yusuke began to move his hand again, Ryuji gripped his forearm to stop him, simply hanging his head over his shoulder.

  
They breathed like that for a long moment, chest to chest, while Yusuke shook out the muscles of his hand.

  
"Sorry I take so long."

  
That was two apologies now. It made it easier for Yusuke to swallow his pride and admit ignorance. "Am I too fast, then, or are you too slow?" he demanded. He was not referring to the speed with which he could move his hand.

  
"Dunno. Probly both. Maybe you're normal 'n I'm just slow." Ryuji laughed, a brief bark of sound and a huff of air in his ear. "Fuck, I dunno, man, I only - I only had the one, before you." He seemed to realize how that sounded and corrected himself quickly. "Had experience with one, I mean. Remember? 'n that was a girl."

  
"Panther."

  
"Yeah."

  
He wondered if it would be considered a faux pas to ask Ann for advice at some point. Probably, he decided. He rested his right hand, splaying it flat against Ryuji's thigh, but made good use of the break with his left. He skimmed it up and over the slippery material of Ryuji's suit until he found what he liked, squeezing him and then releasing, over and over.

  
"You're always goin' for my ass," Ryuji teased. "Why's that, huh?"

  
While his left hand was occupied, his right thumb found something else, something he couldn't immediately determine. A small hard shape within the folds of the suit at Ryuji's waist. He played with it, wondering if Ryuji had some kind of strange undergarment after all, as he thought of how to reply.

  
There was no clever way to answer, and he didn't need to deflect anymore. It felt better to be truthful. "I like it," he said plainly. "I like... you."

  
Ryuji's voice was a strange blend of flattered, amused and incredulous, all at once. "I sorta thought you did. Like, I had a sneaking suspicion? When you had my dick in your mouth. But it's nice to hear anyway."

  
He waited with anticipation, and the silence stretched out. He closed his eyes.

  
A _tch_ of disgust in his ear. "You know I like you too. For fuck's sake. You want a certificate or somethin'?"

  
Did such a thing exist? Something about Ryuji's tone told him it had been a joke at his expense, and he decided that one more remark in that vein would be enough to make him change his mind about the entire endeavour.

  
But Ryuji's voice was kind again, and here was a third apology. "Sorry. I'll try 'n remember to just tell you shit. Say it straight out. Yeah. I like you."

  
It hadn't felt entirely real, somehow, until he heard it with his own ears. He felt warm and comfortable - no, more than that. He felt pleasantly trapped between Ryuji's weight on top of him and the seat below him, his legs immobilized between Ryuji's with only his arms free. He felt - he felt _present._ He felt more at home in his body than he had for as long as he could remember. For once he wasn't ignoring its demands. For once he wasn't staving off hunger or sleep or other inconvenient signals. He could touch what he liked, because Ryuji trusted him. He could allow himself to feel how his body wanted him to feel, and he could do it without shame.

  
Ryuji's simple physicality had spread to him. He enjoyed the feel of the solid muscle of Ryuji's thighs, wedged against his. He enjoyed the muscle beneath his left hand, too, springy but firm. His right hand had found -

  
Oh. The small hard shape was behind a zipper. Without thinking, he unzipped it and reached inside what he realized was Ryuji's waist pocket.

  
"Everybody wants inside my pockets." Ryuji made no move to stop him.

  
In the dark, he couldn't determine what it was until he remembered Ann's comment about what Akira had found inside Ryuji's pocket a few days ago. He dropped it back inside and quickly zipped the pocket shut again, trying not to think of the ugly assumptions Ann and Akira had made about Ryuji.

  
Ryuji was shifting on top of him, and Yusuke thought he might have offended him enough to make him leave. He had certainly invaded his personal space, now, even moreso than he already had been. But Ryuji's voice had become rougher, more urgent, and the truth dawned on Yusuke as he slowly returned his right hand to Ryuji's lap. His fingers went back to their assignment.

  
"We could," Ryuji offered in a low voice. "We could just fuckin'... do it. Right now. You n' me." He had a wondering tone to his voice now, too, and as Yusuke stroked him slowly, keeping time as he listened, Ryuji sounded more and more enthusiastic. "I got the stuff. You want to? We could."

  
His mind flung out possibilities, tiny, briefly glimpsed scenes in this car, similar to the way they were sitting now but very different, too. He hadn't considered such a thing, not with Ryuji, not in any serious way, but now he couldn't stop thinking about it. How would they begin -

  
Ryuji had grown tired of waiting for his answer and moved his hips down and forward, viciously, and Yusuke's hips thrust up to meet his without ever waiting for a signal from his brain - and he was hard, so hard, he was so hard he could feel his _pulse_ there, he was almost hard enough for it to hurt - when had that even _happened?_ \- nevermind that Ryuji had already taken such good care of him not so long ago, and suddenly he thought that if he didn't get relief he might - he might -

  
Ryuji snatched at the zipper at his chest and yanked it down all at once, top to bottom, and freed him from his underwear roughly. He took him in his hand. No, he shoved Yusuke's fingers away and took them _both_ in his hand, running his thumb and fingertips up, then down, and the shock of it sent such a spike of pleasure through him that he couldn't help himself. He gripped Ryuji's hips with both hands and yanked him forward, as if they could possibly be any closer than they already were, and then he slipped both hands further back, kneading him hard until Ryuji gasped, or he gasped himself, he couldn't tell - all he could hear was his own breathing, or Ryuji's -

  
Ryuji's voice in his ear, ragged and desperate, nearly tipped him right over the precipice. "Fuck, Fox, we could just - we really could - " He wasn't suggesting. He was pleading.

  
But it was too much.

  
"We shouldn't," Yusuke said, and this time it was his voice that sounded apologetic.

  
One more convulsive squeeze of Ryuji's fingers around them both, and then he released them. " ...yeah. I don't got condoms." Ryuji leaned back, balanced on his knees, and Yusuke realized that he really was about to leave.

  
He flailed out blindly and clutched his waist, burying his face into Ryuji's chest, and stammered, "I - I didn't mean that."

  
"But... you're right, though. I always - I always go too fast. It's too fast." Ryuji sounded as though he needed to convince himself.

  
He had no idea what was too fast or not fast enough. It all mystified him. But when he stopped to think about everything that had happened to him tonight, and if he began to seriously consider what he and Ryuji were actually proposing, then he had to admit that Ryuji was probably right.

  
But that didn't mean that they were done. They had unfinished business to attend to. "You aren't going anywhere," he snapped, and wrapped his fingers around Ryuji again.

  
"Oh yeah? Shit, am I in trouble?" Ryuji settled again, still straddling his thighs as Yusuke stroked him, picking up speed.

  
"You owe me many - " He had no word prepared and floundered. "You've kept this from me for far too long," he improvised. "I won't stand for it any longer."

  
Look how far he'd come! He felt very impressed with himself.

  
Even Ryuji sounded impressed. His breathing had picked up again, panting in his ear as he rested his chin on his shoulder. "Yeah? Alright, I better - shit - I better... " His voice had taken on the same characteristics that it had had a moment ago, rough and unfocused, and Yusuke felt his stomach swoop with excitement. Excitement and satisfaction.

  
It was premature. He worked his hand, and worked his hand, and worked his hand, but Ryuji did not finish.

  
"You told me that you wanted to - that you wanted it very badly," he said, and he couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice.

  
Ryuji growled. "I do, fuck, I do - keep goin', keep goin' - I told you, I take too long - " He made a sudden movement with his arm, and Yusuke felt him fumble for him in the dark. "Lemme do you first."

  
He was unable to tell if this was more stalling or if it was sincere. "You've already - "

  
"It'll help. C'mon. Lemme get you off again. I wanna see it." Ryuji's fingers gave him a single agonizingly slow, deep stroke, and he nearly relented.

  
Yusuke shook his head and moved his own hand even faster, as if they had entered some sort of contest. "I thought I made myself quite clear. You have kept me waiting long enough."

  
Ryuji laughed in his ear, removed his hand, and wrapped him in his arms instead, getting comfortable. "Okay. You're the boss," he sighed, and it sounded as though he was grinning.

  
In the silence, all he could hear was the obscene sounds his hand was making, still moving between them. Ryuji was very wet, wet enough for his hand to drip with it, but he didn't seem to be any closer.

  
"Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

  
"Nothin', nothin' - just keep - " Ryuji growled again. "I fuckin' _hate_ this, I can't even - " His mood had pendulumed back to frustration, and suddenly he was up on his knees, towering over Yusuke until his hair brushed the roof of the car. It took him a moment to realize Ryuji was moving his hips now, clutching the top of the backseat with his hands for leverage and simply thrusting himself into the circle of his fingers, and it overwhelmed Yusuke. Yusuke kept his right hand still, trailed his left low with only a split second's hesitation, and as he listened to Ryuji begin to chant a litany of profanity over his head, he gave in. He tended to himself clumsily, aching and trembling with relief at the same time, and without thinking, he leaned forward, too, finding Ryuji's jaw and throat and face with his mouth in the dark.

  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ryuji whispered. A list. His breath thundered out of him, barely shaping words, and Yusuke squeezed him, hard, just to hear his voice break. Ryuji slammed his hips against his hand faster now, faster still, and Yusuke kissed his neck and left himself there, his left hand almost as loud as Ryuji's skin was against his right, and then - oh -

  
He slipped over, not just leaning into Ryuji as he came but grinding into him, his face and his hand and his chest, scraping his skin with his teeth, shuddering, desperate to not only be close but to be entangled. He took Ryuji's space and registered warmth within his left hand, then lost himself to the sounds of harsh breathing in his ears for a long, empty moment, devoid of thought.

  
But Ryuji still hadn't finished.

  
Yusuke gathered himself and started moving his right hand again, chastising himself for the lost momentum. He should have put Ryuji before himself. Ryuji had fallen still, or mostly still, while he'd waited for him to finish. But now he twitched in his hand, a strange sensation, and began to move his hips again, meeting his hand halfway.

  
He was beginning to think he would be spending the rest of his days inside this metaphysical car. "Clearly this is insufficient," he decided. "We should switch back to - to what we were doing before now."

  
Ryuji was still on his knees, gasping just over his head. "I'm so - I'm so fuckin' close, man. One more minute - just - "

  
This was getting ridiculous. His patience had evaporated. "Come," he ordered, squeezing Ryuji tightly and moving his hand as quickly as he could. "Come _right now._ Skull, come _now,_ come _now - "_

  
Apparently that was all he'd needed.

  
Ryuji rutted into his hand, his entire body in motion, and Yusuke felt something warm hit the bare skin of his chest, then run down to be lost within his suit. And as Ryuji collapsed on top of him, Yusuke heard that sigh. The same long, rattling sigh, the epitome of satisfaction, that he had heard from Ryuji that first day, when he had stumbled upon him in his corner inside the Palace.

  
They sat like that, a confusion of limbs - why was Ryuji's knee up by his shoulder? - until Yusuke stirred first. He slowly wiped first his right hand, then his left on the seat of the car, vehemently calling to mind images of the museum - the Palace - closing its doors forever in disgrace as he did, as though he could seal its fate with his thoughts alone. But defacing the Palace like this felt a little less satisfying than it had before, when he'd done the same to one of the couches inside, and it was far less satisfying than it had been when he and Ryuji had completed their project at the golden statue. Perhaps it had lost its effect.

  
Ryuji roused himself, lifting his head. "Didn't think you'd even know what a hickey was." His words were clumsy and hard to make out, as though his tongue didn't want to cooperate.

  
He was confused until he remembered he'd kissed Ryuji's neck. Perhaps it wasn't designated as kissing anymore if it left a mark. "You came _inside_ my Metaverse suit," he grumbled. "I should have bitten you while I had the chance."

  
Ryuji laughed in his ear, and the sound of it dissolved any irritation that remained. "Ooh, scary. Fox the Dickbiter." He laughed harder, and Yusuke felt it vibrate in his chest, making a smile appear on his own face without his permission. "Chomp chomp."

  
Yusuke took him by the shoulders and shoved him, or would have, if his hands had let go afterward. But they held on, and Ryuji held on to his shoulders, too, and the two of them slumped into another embrace.

  
"D'you even know you're doin' it?" Ryuji asked him, curious.

  
"What," he said flatly. He was thankful that Ryuji had buried his face into his shoulder. The smile on his own face refused to leave.

  
"The dirty talk. Or, I mean. It's dirty talk for you at least. It's dirty talk compared to how you were before."

  
Some of what he'd said began to come back to him, and he huffed. Now the smile had fled. He refused to answer.

  
"Aw, c'mon. I like it."

  
He frowned, unseen in the dark. "I'm so glad that you enjoyed yourself. I suspect I am going to need to ice my wrist after I leave the Palace."

  
Ryuji kissed him, then, and Yusuke pretended to be angry for another moment longer before giving in to it.

  
"Can I make it up to you?"

  
He would never see the sun again at this rate. "We should probably leave, I think. We have no way of knowing the time until we do."

  
"I meant, like... you wanna go out? Somewhere? I know this ramen place." Ryuji sounded hopeful. "You gotta eat protein to make protein."

  
Was that true? It sounded like it could have been true. His belly roared, answering for him, and Ryuji laughed again as he finally swung his leg over him and got out of the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss counter: 13 mouth to mouth, many more everywhere else. Mwah mwah, etc


	25. Solo Show

Upon exiting the cognitive parking lot, Yusuke was relieved to find that his wrist was not at all sore or swollen. The brief journey between the Palace's parking lot and their world had restored his wrist in just the same way that Ryuji's 'Metaverse shower' returned them both back to their original state, removing the sweat and grime that accumulated during their skirmishes and healing their wounds.

  
The shadows between the buildings in the neighbourhood surrounding the shack were an elegant, velvety black, swallowing them both up as they flitted from one pool of orange light, cast by the old fashioned sodium streetlights, to the next. The silence was broken only by the far off sounds of traffic, a television murmuring tinnily from a balcony window somewhere behind them, and the scrape of their soles upon the sidewalk. In tacit agreement they did not speak until they reached the main thoroughfare, at which point Ryuji began extolling the virtues of the ramen place he was taking them to, as though he'd scarcely been able to keep his enthusiasm to himself. He tried to keep up, both with Ryuji and with their conversation - night had fallen hours ago, and it was cool outside, given that they were both still in their school uniforms, so they walked quickly - but he found it difficult to focus.

  
Everything had changed so quickly.

  
In the car, it had been easy to get swept up in Ryuji's enthusiasm. In fact, Ryuji had a way of turning everything that they had done mundane.

  
They had spoken about the way Ryuji felt for Akira. The way Ryuji _had_ felt for Akira, he corrected. It had taken him a few attempts, but eventually Ryuji had laid out the entire confusing, contradictory tangle of his thoughts on Akira, as though such things could be so matter-of-factly identified and dealt with. Because they'd done just that. The charade was laid bare, then disposed of.

  
He'd wept right in front of Ryuji, and Ryuji had comforted him.

  
Despite everything they'd done tonight, that was what he kept returning to. He hadn't realized that he was still capable of shedding tears. He couldn't even remember when he had last done so. He only knew that it had been long enough ago that he had come to assume that being unable to was a sign that he was leaving childhood behind.

  
His life had its small ups and downs. Its disappointments. But life went on, for him and for everyone else, too, and it was better to make the best of things than to dwell on setbacks.

  
He felt shame for having truly believed that for so much of his life - for believing that it was selfish to want for more than what he had - even as he felt shame for the opposite. For having dwelt on the setbacks for a moment. For having shown too much of himself, too.

  
The shame kept going into hiding, but it was still _there,_ still within him, in some narrow corridor that he could not locate. It was cunning enough to shape itself to nearly any scenario, and - and he began to realize that that was its true nature. It needed no reason. The shame seemed to make itself at home no matter what he did, so he might as well be happy.

  
Was it that easy, though? Could a person simply... decide to be happy?

  
He doubted it. There was more to it than that. But perhaps he might break it down and work on the problem that way.

  
He desperately wanted to change. That had to be the first step.

  
They'd been standing at his usual station for a few minutes, he realized. It looked dramatic at night, flooded with stark white light and shadows tacked to their feet. It must have looked just like this on the night that Ryuji had decided to pay him a visit. He had the impulse to pull out his phone and take a photo of the way the many overhead lights cast a confusion of mingled shadows, overlapping on the pavement behind them, when Ryuji interrupted his thoughts.

  
"You okay?"

  
That was a complex question. But he did feel as though he were on a more even keel than before. "Yes." Something else was required, and, a beat later, he remembered what was considered polite."You?"

  
Ryuji sucked in a long breath and held it for a moment, looking at nothing as he considered. "Yeah," he finally sighed, and smiled at him. "'m alright."

  
"What is our destination, anyway?" His stomach growled, interested.

  
Ryuji's face flickered with amusement, and suddenly he was certain that Ryuji had already told him. He just hadn't been paying attention. But Ryuji repeated himself patiently. "There's this really good ramen place in Ogikubo. It's awesome. You'll like it." It seemed to be very important to Ryuji that he like it. "I never been there this late though. Hope we don't gotta wait too long."

  
Their train arrived, almost empty given the hour, and Yusuke picked the conversation back up once they'd claimed a bench seat. "I have never tried anything but instant ramen, I think."

  
"What? Seriously? Aw, dude, you're gonna love it."

  
Conversation lapsed again, and this time Yusuke sighed, resigning himself to his thoughts. Tonight, Madarame had already taken up far more space in his head than he deserved, but he could feel a memory pricking at the periphery of his mind, insistent, until he finally ceded his attention to it.

  
His painting of a glittering lakeshore under cover of foreboding trees, done in nuanced blues and acid greens, had won a prize, though it was impossible to say whether it would have won if it hadn't had Madarame's signature on it. The prize had driven up the price a collector would pay, and so after it was sold, Madarame had brought home a feast of sushi, lavishing him with praise to go with it as he ate in front of the other pupils and their much more modest meal.

  
That memory was quickly followed by others. His painting of a harsh moonlit copse, indigo snow in the shadows and bare earth in the light, did well on the market. He got the impression that Madarame had teased it under the noses of more than one collector, and they each fought valiantly for the right to take it home. His reward after its sale - his cut - was a beautifully grilled saury and a side of rice congee with herbs, white and green in its ceramic bowl. That must have been around New Year's, then, he supposed, though he had never gotten to try it before that.

  
His painting of a ruin, stone and aging wood barely glimpsed through the tall yellow grass, had marked a new period for him, a time when he explored architecture in decay. Manmade geometry overtaken by the organic shapes of nature. Apparently that painting had fetched a high price, too, because he still remembered fondly the fatty izakaya food that Madarame had brought him: croquettes, yakisoba, and grilled squid.

  
When he thought of the paintings, the food came with it, hand in hand, inextricably linked.

  
What had he done today to deserve ramen?

  
They switched trains at Shibuya, having to stand this time, and he shut the memories out of his mind with an effort. He had all the hours alone in his room to think of Madarame, after all. Instead, he spent the ride to Ogikubo studying the shadows the train's lighting cast upon Ryuji's face: a long, thin triangle below his earlobe, shifting and fattening as he swayed with the train's movement. Spiky shapes left by the hedge of his hair, advancing and receding toward the black of his left eyebrow but never quite touching it. An interesting gradation of shadow, subtle, in the hollow below his cheekbone, where the -

  
Ryuji kicked his shoe, just lightly, to let him know that he was staring. He thought Ryuji might have been annoyed to be stared at, but Ryuji merely smiled as their eyes met, then looked out the window. There was a little more colour to his face than usual, too, and Yusuke had to immediately remind himself to look at something else, or he would have gone right back to staring.

  
From Ogikubo station, they headed for the restaurant in a comfortable silence, Ryuji leading and Yusuke following, and just as he'd said, there was a lineup to enter. It was a high energy crowd, made up primarily of pairs of adults who smelled of alcohol and small groups of salarymen still in their suits, all of them chattering amongst themselves. Not a student in sight but for the two of them. The facial expressions of the inebriated and the body language of the couples gave him plenty of people watching material, and the time passed quickly enough.

  
Ryuji led him to the bar seating at the back of the restaurant, where they sat upon tall stools and set their bags at their feet. He handed him a menu, and Yusuke felt real dread. The familiar paralysis of too much choice struck him as he took in the dozens of items on the menu.

  
What on earth could possibly differentiate this many choices from another? Tonkotsu was pork bone broth, boiled for sixteen hours, the menu proudly proclaimed. Tori paitan was chicken broth, boiled for only twelve hours - but did that mean it was inferior? There were more options below, these for a clear chicken broth - was tori paitan opaque, then? Tonkotsu was opaque. There were options for a tonkotsu _seafood_ broth, even, or tori paitan seafood broth, too, so perhaps one of those would be even better? But he had never had ramen. He wouldn't want his first time trying it to be influenced by something... gimmicky. He should choose something elegant. Simple. What was the absolute simplest option? Tori chintan was the clear chicken broth, and it was only cooked for eight hours. Perhaps that was actually better -

  
"You know what you want?"

  
"Hardly. I need more time."

  
Ryuji rolled his eyes at him, but grinned, too. "This ain't that kinda place, man. Somebody out there wants our seats."

  
He stared at the menu, grim. He could have chosen anything, so of course he was unable to choose a single thing.

  
"I'm gonna have tonkotsu. I always get that. Their chashu's really good."

  
Did this mean that Ryuji had tried ramen at other ramen restaurants? He sounded almost worldly. How could he afford this? The prices were right on the menu, and -

  
His eyes widened. The price for a single bowl of ramen would have covered his transit fare for most of a week. He gulped.

  
Ryuji didn't look aggravated, exactly, but there was a certain set to his mouth that he was coming to recognize. "Yusuke," he hissed, leaning close. "C'mon. We gotta order already."

  
He hadn't even looked at the toppings yet - the menu was _doublesided -_

  
"Want me to order for you?"

  
Yes, yes, a thousand times yes - "I think that would be best," he said gravely.

  
Ryuji ordered them both tonkotsu ramen with chashu, and drinks as well: something sweet and carbonated for himself, and a glass of cold mugicha for Yusuke. "That okay?"

  
Barley tea had a clean taste. Likely a safe choice. "Yes, that will do."

  
"Figured. You're real... " Ryuji squinted, searching for the word. "Traditional."

  
Was that a bad thing? What did he mean by that? He was still trying to piece it together when Ryuji spoke again.

  
"You're so quiet. You, uh. Upset? About before?"

  
He was, of course. Elated and confused, too. There was also a little anger in the mix, but he couldn't separate it from everything else, and when he tried to analyze it further, it seemed that it was aimed just as much at himself as it was at anyone else. None of what had happened to him today was easily put into words, so he took the easy way out, as he'd done so many times before, and shook his head.

  
Their food arrived, more quickly than he had expected, and he stared.

  
It was breathtaking. The chef certainly had a knack for presentation. The noodles weren't visible, so they must have been beneath the toppings, which were laid out in sections like the spokes of a wheel: nori, dark and half submerged in the broth. Bright yellow corn. A small bundle of white enoki mushrooms, next to what he thought were likely wood ear mushrooms. Green scallions. Half an egg, the yolk nearly liquid and shiny. And the chashu, sliced thinly and striped with fat. The broth was a milky, golden yellow, fully opaque and glistening.

  
What if he painted this ramen? How would he begin? The light on the surface of the broth was important. The sheen of it obscured much of the ingredients, in fact, though at the edges of the highlight, the tiny globules of fat - or was it oil? - could be seen. An important feature. With that decided, he narrowed his eyes to blur out the details and take in the colours as a whole.

  
Hm. He didn't want to fault the chef's choices, but if he were to paint it, he might swap the corn and the wood ear mushrooms' positions. The light and dark of the enoki and wood ear mushrooms next to each other made for a satisfying contrast on their own, but the composition needed them elsewhere. The brilliant green scallions could be scattered over the rest of the toppings instead of being assembled together in a single block, and -

  
_"Yusuke."_

  
"Mm?"

  
"You're sposed to _eat_ it."

  
Ryuji was right, of course. He framed his bowl of ramen with his fingers, trying to memorize it, before he ruefully picked up his chopsticks, snapped them apart, and hovered them over the bowl, unsure of where to begin.

  
He hadn't seen the noodles yet. It was unfortunate, but he would have to disturb the carefully arranged toppings to get to them. He stirred his ramen slowly and inhaled deeply, savouring the steam.

  
On his right, a stranger slurped their noodles, and on his left, Ryuji did the same. There was no way around it. He would just have to rely on his memory of what his ramen had looked like and surrender himself to the moment.

  
One bite, and he stopped breathing. He forgot to keep his mouth moving, too, and the noodles hung there, suspended from his mouth to his bowl, until he remembered his manners and started slurping. But the taste of the noodles alone - the broth -

  
He remembered to chew and sighed deeply. Perhaps a little more loudly than he'd intended to.

  
"Good, right?" From the satisfaction in Ryuji's voice, a person might think that he had made the ramen himself.

  
He didn't bother to answer. The _taste -_

  
He both heard and felt Ryuji's phone vibrate from where he'd set it upon the tabletop, though it barely registered. He'd finally taken a bite of egg and barely avoided inhaling it right down his throat in his shock. How could a simple egg taste like _that -_

  
He covered his mouth, trying not to choke, and dropped his chopsticks into his bowl.

  
Ryuji was lost in his phone and didn't comment on the way Yusuke was gulping down mugicha and patting broth from his face with his napkin. "Sorry man," he said absently, as his thumbs tapped at the screen of his phone. "My mom's peckin' at me. One sec."

  
He savoured the taste of the mugicha too, cold after the hot broth. It cut through the salt and fat cleanly, readying his palate for round two.

  
The chashu was tempting, but he wanted to more properly appreciate the noodles first. He closed his eyes as he ate, though they popped open again when he heard a phone's camera next to him.

  
Ryuji had just taken his photo.

  
He finished his mouthful and brought his napkin to his face again. Why would Ryuji take a photo of him? Especially now? "What are you - "

  
Instead of answering, Ryuji showed him his phone.

  
MOM: Yeah? Prove it

  
In response to that message, Ryuji had sent her a photo of him with noodles hanging from his mouth, mid-slurp, in a very unbecoming manner.

  
"Why would you - "

  
"I want a better one later," Ryuji said, sipping his drink. "For me, I mean. But, like. If she wants a photo so bad, she gets you eating."

  
So it hadn't been to humiliate him. Not solely to humiliate him, at least. But why would he want to take a photo of him at all? Ryuji had said that he wanted to take a better one for himself. To keep? To keep on his phone, to look at?

  
Oh. To keep. Another unpleasant association, not the first and probably not the last. This time, it wasn't Madarame's hand on his head, and it wasn't the food he'd been treated to in the past. It was the portrait of him within Madarame's Palace. His self, trapped inside the frame and in an obsequious smile, both. His likeness taken without his permission for another to look at whenever they wished.

  
It was an uncomfortable thought, made more uncomfortable because he wasn't certain if he should be. He hadn't had time to think of the future, but if he did pursue whatever he might find with Ryuji - if there was more to this, if there could be more - then was this part of it? Being a possession? Being kept?

  
He chided himself. Madarame's portrait of him signified his ownership of him. Madarame's control over him, the pet artist. But Ryuji's actions outside the cognitive world did not carry the same weight that Madarame's Shadow's actions did within it. The same level of meaning. He had to believe that Ryuji simply wanted a photo of him as a...

  
Well. He was less certain of what Ryuji actually did want a photo of him for. His first thought was that he wanted a photo to use as reference, but Ryuji was not an artist, of course.

  
He stared down into his murky ramen broth, then decided to set the matter aside, like a sketch that wasn't coming out well.

  
Turn the page. New subject.

  
He wanted to change. He wanted to be _happy,_ and it wouldn't simply fall into his lap. It was up to him. So he looked up from his bowl, stared at Ryuji until he looked up from his own bowl, and smiled at him.

  
Yusuke put his all into it. His gratitude, his relief, his singing heart. All that he'd felt tonight - or at least, all that he'd felt that he wanted to hang onto. He focused on what he felt until he was certain that it had broken through his stone face, and let Ryuji know that he appreciated his meal.

  
"You are pleased with me, then?" he asked, gesturing to his bowl as he smiled.

  
"Huh?"

  
Was Ryuji really going to make him go into detail here, in a crowded restaurant? It was difficult enough to even hint at the idea in private. "My work for you in the car," he tried. But there was no recognition in Ryuji's face, until Yusuke laid his hand on the bartop between the two of them and curled his thumb and first two fingers into the shape they'd made around Ryuji while the two of them had struggled, together, to bring him to completion. "You must be pleased with my efforts," he repeated, gesturing to his bowl of ramen again with his other hand.

  
"I - you think - what?" Ryuji's mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, and Yusuke's heart sank as Ryuji's face slowly clouded with anger, like ink in water.

  
"I - "

  
"You think - " Ryuji's voice was too loud. "You think I'm fuckin' _payin'_ you for - for - "

  
He kept his own voice low, in hopes of convincing Ryuji to follow suit. He couldn't see the person eating ramen on his right, but he could hear that they had stopped slurping. "Is this not my reward? For a job well done?"

  
Ryuji snapped his mouth shut, his face red, and visibly reined himself in. He breathed in deeply and exhaled through his nose, then scrubbed his hand through his hair. _"No,"_ he finally said, his voice pained. "It _ain't."_

  
He'd gotten it wrong. "Why, then?"

  
"How come you gotta make it weird, huh? Why do you always - " Ryuji averted his eyes, staring at nothing. Perhaps he'd misread him. Ryuji looked angry, but sounded dismayed. "You'd be worth more 'n ramen," he mumbled.

  
Yusuke stared down at his bowl of ramen and its composition, now in disarray. He'd barely touched it, but right now his stomach felt like a stone, cold and hard.

  
Why, then?

  
Ryuji ate his ramen without speaking, so Yusuke stared at his and kept silent too. He'd ruined the moment. He'd ruined the entire evening, in fact. Everything that had happened in the car might as well have been erased.

  
"Thought you were hungry."

  
"...I seem to have lost my appetite."

  
He steeled himself for Ryuji's anger. To waste such an expensive meal was unthinkable, but the idea of forcing himself to eat it right now only made him feel more sick. He hunched over the bartop and swallowed past the lump in his throat.

  
"It ain't a big deal," Ryuji said, his voice kept carefully neutral. "They might pack it up for you. Or you can just leave it, if - if it ain't your thing."

  
He didn't understand why Ryuji would say that. He didn't understand _anything._

  
Ryuji bumped his knee with his below the bartop, then left it there. Their knees brushed together, and after a moment spent frozen in indecision, Yusuke finally relaxed his leg sufficiently to rest his knee against Ryuji's. It grew warm.

  
He waited for more - more anger, more proof that he was not meeting Ryuji's expectations - but nothing came.

  
"Why?" It came out in a miserable croak.

  
He didn't look Ryuji in the eye, but he could hear the exasperation in his voice. He pictured Ryuji rolling his eyes as he spoke. "Yusuke, fuck. We already covered this. Remember? I wanted to take you out like, yesterday. Yesterday morning. When I asked you in chat, before school. Back before that, even! Before... you know. Before tonight. So it ain't like I'm payin' you. It's not cuz of that."

  
He did remember, but at the time, he hadn't realized what such an offer entailed. He certainly hadn't been picturing a meal like this. "But - "

  
"I'm coverin' you cuz you're broke. Right? Like - shit, sorry, that's sorta - that's a shitty thing to say, I guess, but - I mean - " Ryuji lowered his voice and leaned close, apparently feeling that discretion was called for. " - this is a date, right? I'll pay. When I got money, anyway. I don't mind. I like it."

  
The ramen was not connected to what they'd done in the car. Ryuji had wanted to treat him to ramen as far back as yesterday. It was not a reward at all.

  
He finally risked glancing at Ryuji's face. Ryuji's smile was nothing but genuine, and it thawed him. Yusuke smiled back, or hoped he did, at least, and put his chopsticks back to work.

  
\----------

  
Fuck, he felt good.

  
Yusuke had all these weirdass assumptions, but he'd gotten through to him. The big smile and empty bowl had to mean that. And Ryuji didn't really know how a date was supposed to go, not from firsthand experience, at least, but he'd gotten Yusuke to understand how he felt, too. Eventually.

  
He'd been less confident about the part that came after. Did you escort your date to their train station if they were a guy, like you did with a girl? Yusuke hadn't appreciated the idea all that much, and had seemed to think it would be a waste of train fare, too, so he'd dropped it. Too bad, though. It made him embarrassed to admit it, even just to himself, but he'd been so reluctant to see Yusuke go that, even now, he actually missed the extra twenty minutes he could have spent with him if they'd taken the train to Yusuke's station. Apparently all the hours they'd been together tonight wasn't enough. He wanted to be stuck to Yusuke like glue for every second he could.

  
Still. In the end, weird assumptions or not, it had all come together. The way Yusuke'd kissed him behind a corner in the Shibuya station, quick but definitely not unenthusiastic, had convinced him. He'd spent half the train ride home in a goofy daze.

  
Even his mom's messages weren't enough to wreck his good mood.

  
MOM: Where are you  
RYUJI: omw  
MOM: Yeah I should hope so  
MOM: Think we better have a chat when you get in  
RYUJI: yeah yeah

  
Probably not the best plan if she was already pissed at him. He deleted it at the last second and typed something more diplomatic.

  
RYUJI: sorry. it's pretty late again  
MOM: You could say that

  
His mom seemed to be fine with leaving it there for the time being, so he did too. He got a seat on the train and twisted sideways, leaning his elbow on the windowsill behind him and propping up his chin with his hand so he could cover up his grin.

  
\----------

  
When Yusuke eased the front door of the shack open and slipped inside, lighting the way with the screen of his phone, the first thing he noticed was that all of the lights were out. The second thing he noticed was that Madarame's shoes were lined up neatly in the entranceway.

  
Madarame was home, but -

  
He scanned the hallway, then the upper level, padding quickly in his socked feet and clamping his school bag to his side so it wouldn't rustle. He crept to Madarame's closed bedroom door, listened for the sound of his breathing, and confirmed his suspicions.

  
Madarame was home, but either didn't know or didn't care that Yusuke had stayed out until nearly midnight. He was asleep.

  
Why did that upset him so? He didn't particularly relish the thought of another conversation about his lack of progress on Madarame's painting. A conversation about where he'd been and whom he'd been with sounded even less appealing. So he should be happy.

  
For more than just that reason, too. He bared his teeth in the dark and repeated it to himself, trying to make it true by sheer force of will. He should _be happy_. Ryuji had taken him out on a _date._ It hadn't been a reward for what he'd done for him in the backseat of the car in the cognitive parking lot. It hadn't been payment of any sort. It meant more. It was a sign that Ryuji - that Ryuji -

  
He let out his breath in a harsh sigh, quit woolgathering and ducked into the room he slept in, sliding the door shut behind him without making a sound. He set his bag down, then undressed in the dark. He was about to change into his sleep clothes when he stopped, his white collared shirt still trailing from one hand.

  
Ryuji had kissed him today. And he had kissed him back.

  
He let go of the shirt.

  
He drifted to his futon and sat down heavily, wearing only his underwear. He let his body collapse backward, flopping onto his back, and hid his burning face in both hands.

  
Was he still himself?

  
Had it been him who had left shame at the door of the Palace, or someone else? Someone else must have laid those words at Ryuji's feet so guilelessly. 'I like you.' That didn't sound like him at all. Someone else must have kissed Ryuji's throat. His face, his lips, his -

  
How could he have done that?

  
He rolled onto his side, violently, curling into a ball and grappling with the shame. The shame had steeped his thoughts for years and years, so he shouldn't be surprised that it remained. It was foolish to imagine that it was banished after only one night. Only a few hours, really. But he desperately wanted that. If he wished it so, if he wished it gone, gone forever, why couldn't that be enough? Ryuji's problem was held at bay with thoughts alone, and just like him, Ryuji had a close relationship with shame. So if he used similar tactics -

  
The lead blanket weariness that settled on him after each trip to the Metaverse was pressing him into the floor, of course, and the hour was late. Much later than he typically went to bed, since the distance he lived from Kosei meant that his morning commute was longer than many of the other students'. But he had never felt further from sleep. His thoughts raced through his head, and it took a great deal of effort to collect them enough to focus.

  
Ryuji described it as purposely unmaking his bed, then making it again. Wrinkling the sheets, then smoothing them. So Yusuke, laying on his futon, pictured himself kneeling on top of it and fussing with the covers. First with one hand, then with the other. Fingers splayed wide as he smoothed out every wrinkle.

  
His body reacted.

  
He gasped and pulled his knees tighter to his chest. This was hardly the desired effect. The stirrings he had just felt seemed to indicate that his futon held different associations than Ryuji's bed did for him.

  
His body had handily interrupted his meditation, if that was what it was, so he let his mind drift where it pleased. The conversation he had had with Ryuji when he had called him late at night from this very place played behind his eyelids, unbidden, complete with an audio track of Ryuji's voice in his ear.

  
Why _now?_ By any measure, his body should be more than satisfied after the evening he'd had. But his body had its own ideas, and its own goals, too, and he became increasingly alarmed at the thought. It was just as he'd always dreaded. He was not in control.

  
He'd attempted Ryuji's technique to oust the shame, but it was insidious, creeping beneath the walls he'd put up. He crossed his arms and clutched his shoulders in each hand, still on his side, and squeezed his eyes shut tightly as the shame flooded him.

  
But he wanted to be happy.

  
At that thought, as if unlocked, he was awarded with an abrupt flash of what he'd been thinking the first night he had successfully...

  
He grappled with the shame, and this time he won. He'd take his victories where he found them. He seized the words - the right to _use_ the words - triumphantly, even if it was only within his own mind.

  
He had touched himself. He had pleasured himself. He had - he bore down, forcing the thought through - come. The dream may have inspired him, but he had been awake for the act. The choice had been his.

  
He remembered a little more of how he'd felt. What he'd been thinking about. He traced over the words in his mind as if to strengthen them, and the same indignation that he had felt that night came with them.

  
Why _should_ he be ashamed? Why was it so selfish? Why couldn't he... want?

  
His arms and legs were covered in gooseflesh, every hair standing on end in the cool, bare room. He could have been under the covers of his futon. He should have been, given that Madarame was home and given that he was technically nearly naked, alone in the room that he slept in though he was. But he couldn't tear himself away from that single, searing thought.

  
He couldn't want.

  
How was that possible? Everyone wanted. It wasn't selfish to want. It wasn't selfish to - to desire. Everyone had desires. Everyone who had grown up differently than he had, at least.

  
After he had begun attending school outside the shack, it hadn't taken him long at all to realize that his was not a typical childhood. It had only taken him a little longer to learn not to volunteer information about his day to day.

  
The pupils bent over their easels, competing for -

  
A sour taste filled his mouth. He had never put it in such bald terms, even to himself, and it was tempting to shy away from it. But he had to look at it for what it was.

  
Madarame had pitted Yusuke and his family against each other, making them compete for his scant affection. For food as a reward. For the right to stay.

  
He'd thought he'd seen it all much more clearly after the Thieves had escorted him through Madarame's Palace, during that first whirlwind trip inside the Metaverse, but his enlightenment seemed to come in slow waves, creeping but relentless. It hadn't stopped, not at all. He wondered how many more lies there could possibly be to tear down, and despaired.

  
But he had to remain strong, he told himself. Change was difficult, or he'd have changed on his own long ago.

  
He finally realized he was shivering and crawled beneath his covers, as if the physical comfort could comfort his mind, too. He lay on his back and clenched his fists, returning to his careful, painful dissection while his body warmed up.

  
Was he incapable of want because of how he had been raised?

  
It felt true. Madarame had taught him to embrace painting so wholeheartedly that, even now, even as he tried to analyze it from as much of a distance as he could manage, he felt himself recoil. Painting was what he _was._ Was that wrong?

  
He covered his mouth, too late, as he let out something between an aggrieved sigh and a growl. Painting was - painting couldn't be wrong. It wasn't painting. It was painting to the exclusion of all else that was wrong. It was putting his life into his brush in the hopes of earning some tiny, pathetic scrap of love. A meal beyond the bare minimum. A hand on his head.

  
He hadn't ever learned _how_ to want. There hadn't been time. There had only been painting for others. A horde of faceless collectors. The voices at the other end of the line when Madarame took calls in the room on the first floor of the shack.

  
It felt wrong to think this way. It felt like complaining. Weakness. Madarame had never told him that he couldn't -

  
He sighed again. That was it. It was an implied command. Madarame had never needed to tell him in words that his every waking moment should be devoted to painting and nothing else, because his actions had shown it.

  
He thought of the other pupils. His family. The girl who had preferred drawing over painting. The boy whose work had failed to impress. The girl who had needed expensive medication. Each of them there one night and gone the next morning, taken from this very room, without so much as a goodbye.

  
He thought of the boy, the one without a name or face to pin him down with, the one that Nakanohara had told Ryuji and the other Thieves had committed suicide after he had left.

  
Yusuke was the last.

  
His body grew warm, then hot, until he had to wrench the covers off again. His heart thudded in his chest and he began to panic, trying in vain to determine what his body was doing. When he held his hands up, he realized they were shaking. What was this? Why did he feel so -

  
He sat up, quickly, and pulled his knees to his chest as the air cooled his bare skin again. His thoughts whirled by, too fast for him to catch hold of.

  
At last, they slowed enough for him to figure it out. He was furious.

  
He felt ashamed every time he'd left the shack to spend time with Ryuji because it was what he shouldn't be doing. Why? Why did he think that? Because it was useful for Madarame if he thought that. A good little pet artist shouldn't want to do anything but paint. A good little pet artist shouldn't want.

  
But it still felt like whining to think that. The easy way out.

  
His anger turned inward, and he allowed it to, gritting his teeth as self-loathing washed over him. His thoughts came full circle, though this time, his mind found a way to make it his own fault.

  
Madarame had never told him he was forbidden to do anything but paint. To go out with a friend. To date. Madarame had certainly never forbade him to touch himself, alone in his room at night. It was childish to pin it all on Madarame. His feelings were his own, and -

  
He couldn't finish the thought. His loathing for himself turned to pity, as quickly and unpredictably as a coin flip, and he burrowed his face into his knees, still pulled tightly to his chest.

  
He'd been so angry only a moment ago - why were there tears in his eyes now? He hated it, he hated feeling this way, he hated - he hated feeling.

  
The truth of it at last.

  
Every muscle in his chest and stomach drew tight. His throat threatened to close. The muscles of his brow and jaw clenched tightly enough that his face began to hurt. He sat upright in his bare wooden box of a room, tears rolling down his face, and shook as he struggled to remain silent.

  
He couldn't. He knew Madarame was only a few doors away. And he had already _done_ this today. And it was bad enough that Ryuji had already seen him like this. And he had no reason to feel sad -

  
He muffled himself with his bare forearm as he sobbed.

  
It was hard to think while his body was making it so difficult to pull in breath. But remembering the way that he had already embarrassed himself in this way made him think of Ryuji, and thinking of Ryuji brought to mind the parking lot, where he had already wept once today.

  
Oh. He held his breath for a dizzying moment, blinded with tears, struck by the memory of how it had felt as Ryuji had held him.

  
He laid back down in his futon and pulled the covers to his chin. He closed his eyes and used his considerable powers of imagination to put Ryuji in the room with him. Ryuji's breath in his ear. Ryuji's hands around his waist. Ryuji's solid, comforting body, sharing his warmth.

  
He did not sleep, but for a while, at least, his turbulent thoughts were put to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so difficult to write! I hope to make the gap between future chapters a little smaller


	26. Anamorphosis

By the time he got off the train and headed home, the streets and sidewalks were empty.

  
Ryuji winced as he unlocked the front door of his apartment and stepped inside. It wasn't exactly a surprise to see his mom sitting there at the kitchen table with just the overhead light on, since she'd already sent him a message saying that they were going to have a talk, but he still wasn't looking forward to what he knew was coming. He'd been feeling good while he'd been on the train home, thinking about Yusuke, but now that he'd seen his mom, it was easy enough to pack up those memories and put them away for later.

  
He took his time getting his shoes and bag squared away, then shrugged out of his school blazer. "Oh, hey mom," he said, playing the dumbass. Like he hadn't been expecting to see her there. "Guess I better get to bed, huh - "

  
"Siddown."

  
He sighed and hung his blazer over the back of the kitchen chair across from her, then slid into it. "What."

  
He could _see_ what she wanted to say on her face. Something like 'you know damn well what.' But she clamped her mouth shut, got up, and went over to the kitchen counter. "You want some tea?" she asked, turned away.

  
"No, not really."

  
"Have some tea." Ah. Mandatory tea. She poured it out into two mismatched mugs and handed him one. She couldn't make him drink it, though, so he used it to warm up his hands instead.

  
Then she just sat there, staring at his face. Waiting him out, like she always did. With the way he was stuck between her eyes and the kitchen light above their heads, it really did feel like an interrogation scene from some movie.

  
Good thing Metaverse showers got rid of sweat and blood. Hickies, too.

  
Maybe if he went first, he could steer things toward something light. The photo he'd sent her of Yusuke slurping ramen noodles probably counted. "I told you he was real. Yusuke. Now you got proof."

  
"Photographic evidence."

  
"Yeah." But her staring him down was already getting to him. It was probably better to get certain shit out of the way. "I told you I was just gonna take him out for food. I wasn't out drinkin' or - or whatever."

  
She didn't say anything.

  
She'd gotten real close on Sunday night, checking his breath and his pupils too. It felt like she was checking his pupils right now, actually - "Fuck, I _wasn't,_ okay?"

  
His mom had been holding herself back until now. Now his tone, or maybe his mouth, finally set her off. It was almost a relief. Her voice went loud. "Why do you think you get to just - " She reined herself in before she could really get going, though. "Kid, look at the clock." She jabbed her finger in the direction of the little green numbers on the display above the stove.

  
"I'm _sorry,"_ he growled between gritted teeth. It didn't come out sounding very convincing.

  
But this wasn't how he'd wanted it to go. He actually was sorry. His mom didn't have to give him cash to take Yusuke out for ramen, and she didn't have to give him special permission to go out while he was technically still grounded from fucking up the first time, either. But she had. "I'm sorry it got so late," he tried again, doing his best to wipe off the pissed expression he was sure he was wearing.

  
She cocked one eyebrow, waiting for the rest.

  
"We just - like, we spent a long time talkin', I guess - " This was part true and part not true, but he told himself it was a necessary lie. " - 'n he's all the way out on the other side of downtown, so I had to go get him, 'n then we went all the way to Ogikubo, in the other direction, so - "

  
"They don't make ramen where he lives? Or downtown?"

  
"Sure, but I wanted to take him somewhere I knew was good, so... "

  
His mom took a gulp of tea. "At least you texted me this time. Once," she allowed. One beat, two beats, and then her voice smoothed out. Mostly. "Did you have fun?"

  
His back relaxed. "Yeah." He smiled at her, and she smiled back. "He liked it. He said he never had anything but instant before, can you believe that?"

  
"No," she said immediately. "That sounds like he's trying to butter you up for something. More ramen on your dime, maybe."

  
He'd have been offended on Yusuke's behalf if anybody else had said that about him. But his mom had never met Yusuke. She just didn't know him, that was all. "Nah, he ain't like that. He's just... " It felt mean to go on and on about Yusuke being poor, so he changed his mind at the last minute and just repeated what he'd called Yusuke to his face earlier. "Traditional, I guess. He don't eat food like that at home, or, like. Ever, really."

  
His mom let herself slump in her chair a bit, and he noticed how tired she looked. Maybe she was even as tired as he was. Infiltration tired. She'd worked today, and it was way past the time she usually went to bed. "Mm." She propped up her chin in her hand. "You said he goes to Kosei, right? Not Shujin? How often do you hang out after school?"

  
Where was she going with this? Somewhere he didn't like. "Like. Every day, just about. I guess."

  
"And you guys probably chat at night, right? After dinner? I heard you on the phone with somebody the other day. Was that Yusuke too?"

  
Oh shit. Oh _shit._ The bottom of his stomach dropped out. Did she hear anything? Did his mom overhear him having fucking phone sex with Yusuke? He stared her right in the eye as his face went hot, but she just looked neutral. Tired, but neutral. His mom was bad at hiding what she was thinking, just like him, so he had to assume she'd heard him talking but not what he'd said. "Y-yeah. We've been chatting. That was him on the phone too."

  
Did his mom have a problem with Yusuke? If she could just talk to him face to face, she'd like him for sure. Yusuke talked real formal, like he was a hundred years old, and he looked nice. Presentable. Came off way better than he did, that was for sure. Yusuke looked like a good kid. He didn't.

  
He sat there, wracking his brain to come up with a way to make her change her mind about Yusuke, until she finally spoke up again. "I got a call from Shujin today," she said quietly.

  
Oh.

  
"How long's it been since you stopped doing your homework? They just said that you were behind. Way behind."

  
He squirmed under the lamp. This was the real interrogation. "Like. A while."

  
"Come on. I'm trying to be nice here, okay?" His mom started to plead with him, and he looked away in a hurry. "I don't like being a hardass, so don't make me."

  
"I did my English homework yesterday!" he protested. "You fuckin' saw me do it - "

  
She rolled her eyes. "Oh wow, one class. One time." He'd gotten mouthy, so she pulled out the big guns. "Listen, if you're spending so much time with Yusuke that you can't find the time for your homework, then I don't think he's all that great an influence on you."

  
If anything, he was a bad influence on Yusuke, not the other way around. The idea of not seeing Yusuke anymore made him panic the second she hinted at it, and he spoke without thinking. "It ain't him, it's me," he blurted out.

  
She played with her mug of tea, inching it along the tabletop first one way, then the other, while she waited to see how he'd talk himself out of this one.

  
His mom was good to him. Better than some kids' moms were, for sure. He took a few seconds to remind himself of that. It helped him get his tone where it belonged. His face, too. "I know I should've been doin' it," he admitted. "That's my fault. It's me. It ain't him, it's me."

  
She gave him more time, waiting.

  
"I just. I been avoidin' it." He grimaced. His problem was the reason he hadn't been doing school shit. His problem was what he'd been avoiding first, his homework second, but he couldn't exactly tell his mom that.

  
She waited.

  
He had to. He had to tell her more. There was no way out. He put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead in the palms of both hands, staring downward so he wouldn't have to see her drilling her eyes into him anymore. "I, uh. I feel... bad. Lately," he mumbled.

  
He kept thinking about how all this would sound to his mom. Like it was an excuse. A halfassed lie. So when she reached across the table and put her hand on his shoulder and asked, "Bad how?", his mind just went blank.

  
"Huh?"

  
His mom got up out of her chair, moving fast, and before he could guess what she was going to do, she stood behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her chin on the top of his head. "You don't mean physically, do you," she said, her voice low.

  
What could he possibly tell her? He had to say something. She was being nice to him, and he'd brought this up like an idiot, and now she was hugging him hard after the kind of day he'd had, and it all came down. His defenses. He sniffled, his face on fire, and cleared his throat. "Yeah. I mean no. I mean. It's in my head."

  
She had him in a sort of chokehold, just about, but she kissed the top of his head, mwah, like that, and kept her voice quiet. "How've you been sleeping?"

  
It had been a few days since his problem had kept him up all night, tossing and turning and wondering if there was some way he could tie his hands behind his back, if that was what it took for him to be good and fall asleep. Since then, he'd distracted himself by chatting with Yusuke, and sometimes they did keep going pretty late. It felt a lot better, but if it was just a different way for him to avoid his problem, then he figured it counted, too. "Not great."

  
"Is this why you haven't been doing your homework? Because you feel bad?"

  
He suddenly realized something and smiled, or tried to. It probably didn't come out looking much like a smile.

  
His mom was trying to show him how much she trusted him. She wasn't just jumping to the worst conclusion. She trusted him to not just try to weasel out of telling her anything, and she trusted him to not just make up shit to get out of being in trouble. She wasn't trying to trip him up or interrogate him. She wanted to make sure he was okay.

  
"Yeah." His voice came out in a funny whisper, so he cleared his throat again. "I uh. I can't focus anymore. I feel bad when I'm by myself. So I been hangin' out with Yusuke every day instead of doing my homework. Sorry."

  
Her voice was right in his ear. She sounded so nice. Sort of like she was trying to encourage him, maybe. "But you got your English done yesterday, right? When you were on the couch with me? Did you hand it in?"

  
He nodded against her. "Yeah."

  
"So... ?"

  
He couldn't figure out what she was asking, so he kept quiet for once.

  
"Do you think it'd help if you did your homework out here with me?" she prompted.

  
"I dunno - maybe - like, I... " He trailed off.

  
"How come you can't focus, kid?" She backed off a bit, standing up straight behind him, but she kept her hands on him, trying to make him feel better. Now she was rubbing his shoulders and his chest, and he had to swallow hard to keep his voice.

  
"I guess I just... I keep thinkin' about - about - "

  
"Stuff from before?" she murmured. She didn't have to go into specifics. They both knew she was talking about his dad.

  
It was hard to put into words. His problem was something he never, ever wanted to talk to his mom about, but... it did have a source. At least he'd figured that much out. There was a reason he was like this. He could talk about that part, maybe. "No - well, kind of, yeah. Stuff that's _like_ that. Yeah. It's that, and... sad shit. All day long sometimes. I can't turn it off."

  
"Should we go to the doctor?"

  
It wasn't 'you're going to the doctor.' It was _'we're_ going to the doctor.' No, it wasn't even that. It was _'should_ we go to the doctor.' It was his choice, and she had his back.

  
He loved her a lot. He blinked hard.

  
"Maybe. But, uh. I actually been feelin' a bit better the last couple days. Mostly. That's how I could even do just that one assignment, out in the living room." He cracked his knuckles. "Talkin' to Yusuke helps, I guess."

  
"Think you could talk to me a bit more? If you're feeling bad? If you're thinking about sad shit?"

  
"Yeah. I probly could," he admitted.

  
She let go of him, came around the table to sit down across from him again, and gave him a nice smile. A Mom Smile. He looked away, rubbing his arms, but it made him smile, too.

  
"You're still on the hook though. You know that, right? You can't just not do your homework."

  
He'd known he wasn't going to make it out of this without some kind of punishment. "Yeah. I know."

  
"Got your assignments?"

  
It was late, and they were both tired, but he dug through his bag and pulled out the thick stack of shit he'd done his best to forget about for weeks. Some of it really was that old. Side by side now, under the overhead lamp, they flipped through the stapled sheets, checking the due dates. If she was pissed about it, she kept it to herself.

  
In a few minutes, all the overdue assignments he could still get partial marks for were arranged in a pile by the date, and all the ones that were too old to turn in were in the recycling bin.

  
It felt so much better to see them in his hands like this. Like when they finally stumbled upon a map of a new Palace and didn't have to wander around in the dark anymore. Now he could just fill them out and hand them in.

  
It was a pretty good sized stack, though.

  
"Is Yusuke a picky eater?" his mom asked out of nowhere.

  
"Uh. Dunno. I only met him a few weeks ago. I only had ramen with him so far." He snorted as he remembered that first night Yusuke had gone to the Metaverse, when he'd awoken Goemon. They'd all sat at the diner after, and Yusuke'd tried to order something with no money in his pockets. "He likes black bean jelly, I guess. That's all I know."

  
His mom did this thing with her face and her voice, holding back, and he knew she was trying to tell him that it was his choice. "Do you think he'd like to come over for dinner sometime?" she asked carefully. It was an offer, not a demand.

  
She wanted to meet Yusuke, but it was up to him, just like going to the doctor was.

  
He grinned. For some reason it had made him feel really good to see Yusuke eating a big bowl of ramen tonight. Having him over for dinner could be sort of like that, even if it was his mom cooking, not him. "Yeah, I bet he would."

  
He'd been waiting for the hammer to come down ever since he'd gotten home, and here it was now. But it was barely a punishment in the end. More of an incentive. "Get through this whole pile, and keep up with your new homework, too, and Yusuke can come over for dinner," she promised.

  
He opened his mouth to agree, but his mom cut him off. She wasn't done. Her voice went hard. "And I want you home when I am. I've had enough of this." She waved her hand at the table, where they were sitting, but he knew what she really meant was the whole waiting for him to come home late at night thing. Losing sleep while she waited for her kid to slink through the door. Worrying about where he was and who he was out with.

  
That was fair. And since she got home so much later than he did, that meant he could still go out for infiltrations, too, if the Thieves needed him. He didn't have to worry about letting them down because he was grounded or something. So he nodded.

  
Apparently there was one more thing. "Listen, I don't wanna have to tell you you can't see Yusuke anymore, okay? I know you like him. But your assignments come first. That's your job right now. Work first, play later. Do them out in the living room if you have to - " She interrupted herself this time. "But I don't want to have to watch over your shoulder to keep you in line, either. You're too old for that. So I'm not going to. Alright?"

  
The school would just give her another call if he did keep slacking off. There was no point in trying to get around it. And he couldn't get all indignant over what she'd just said, either, even though he wanted to. He deserved all of this. So he just looked her in the eye and gave her another nod. "Sorry. You don't gotta supervise me or whatever. I'll do 'em."

  
She sighed like the whole thing was a weight off her shoulders, then got up and patted his back. "I know you will. You're a good kid."

  
They said their goodnights, and he shoved the crinkled up stack of overdue assignments back in his bag. He got all the way to his bedroom and had his tshirt halfway over his head when he stopped, his mouth dry and his heart beating fast.

  
His mom had said 'I know you like him.' Yusuke. What did that mean?

  
Did she mean as a friend? Or did she know how it really was? How much _did_ she know?

  
He crawled into bed. Sleep grabbed hold of him before he could wonder about it for too long, and he was too exhausted to dream about anything at all.

  
\----------

  
Yusuke's alarm was set to go off in less than three hours, and he was very tired, but he was still awake, lying flat on his back in his futon. He did not feel at all himself.

  
His thoughts would hit a low, and his eyes would leak tears again. The mood that had torn the pained noises from his throat had left him, at least, but he had already shed more tears than he had known he could, and just when he thought he was out of the woods, there were more of them.

  
His thoughts would hit a high, and he would laugh, alone in his room in the middle of the night, like someone of unsound mind, like someone who laughed without any earthly reason to -

  
Oh. Like Ryuji.

  
That made him laugh too, until he made himself stop. Ryuji had a laugh prepared for every possible situation, from genuine good humour to awkwardness to bitter hopelessness, as though he used laughter to fill the space of a silence, or to soften a blow. A comfort.

  
Did Ryuji feel like this when he was alone? Slung from high to low with barely enough time to catch a breath in between?

  
Did most people feel this way? Ann? Akira?

  
A cowardly, childish part of him wished he could go back to feeling the way he had before tonight. Frozen in place, but with the illusion of control. A grey average between happiness and unhappiness. Numb.

  
Up until very recently, he had often wished that he didn't have a body. It would seem that on some level even further below his fully formed thoughts, he had wished away his emotions, too.

  
He wondered how old he had been when he had decided that it was better to live in that unfeeling twilight. He couldn't remember it ever being a conscious decision. It made a certain sort of sense, though, now that he had left it behind and could look back on it. His life had always been out of his hands, but he could choose how to feel, if nothing else. Was it better to be crushed by a lifelong series of disappointments, or to close his eyes and cover his ears to it? He couldn't do a thing about how he was treated, but what he could do was tell himself that the way he'd been treated was the way things should be.

  
He couldn't be disappointed if he had never hoped in the first place. If he never wanted. So he had turned off want like a faucet.

  
It might have worked a little too well, though. He smiled to himself, staring up at the ceiling. Apparently turning off his ability to want had turned off everything else, too, and turning on that faucet again - ha - had let everything else come flooding out, all at once. A stockpile of tears. But perhaps a stockpile of laughter, too. He had catching up to do.

  
It made perfect sense that he couldn't fall asleep right now, exhausted though his body was. He was finally awake, all of him, for the first time in years.

  
He sat up in his futon and rubbed his hands over his face. After crying for so long he felt quite disgusting, but the last thing he wanted to do was risk running into Madarame in the hallway leading to the washroom. The chances of that were slim to none, given the hour, but his mind was set, so he would just have to make do with what was close at hand. The shirt he slept in was likely due for a wash anyway.

  
He balled it up when he was through with it and, still feeling like someone else, he tossed it into the corner of the room to deal with later.

  
He never left his clothing on the floor of the room he slept in. Ever.

  
Was he smiling?

  
Ryuji had told him that the purpose of crying was to make a person feel better. Something along those lines, at least. He was probably right, because he did feel better.

  
It seemed as though the storm had left him, leaving his mind empty and, for now, at peace. Without knowing what he was about to do, he stood in the dark and drifted to the window, where he parted the blinds with his fingertips.

  
He gasped. It was beautiful outside.

  
He was too cold again, dressed only in his underwear as he was, but that didn't matter. He framed the street outside the shack with his hands, marvelling.

  
It had rained at some point, just enough to leave small, glittering pools in the gutters and potholes here and there. The water on the street amplified the contrast of the scene, pushing the black of the asphalt and the sky above it and sharpening the colours of the orange streetlights and blue traffic light.

  
If he squinted his eyes, the scene fractured and lost its sense, breaking apart into colours alone. He could see neon signs and coloured lights in the distance, too, reduced down to a simplicity of vibrant, overlapping circles against the night sky. As he watched, a solitary car drove down the street in a quiet roar, sheeting water to either side and streaming red in its wake, its tail lights reflected beneath it in the thin skin of water covering the asphalt.

  
Profound, tarry black picked out with smears of greasy yellow-orange and blue. Sullen cherry red. Tiny pinpricks of hard white. He'd seen these colours before. The street was _Ryuji's suit,_ or Ryuji's suit was Tokyo, or - or the street he lived on, at least -

  
He was so tired. His mind was running in circles. But sleep had never felt further away.

  
He retrieved his phone from his pants pocket and took photo after photo, trying and failing to capture the essence of the scene outside. No one shot could approach it, but if he kept the half dozen that came closest, he could use them as reference for -

  
On the other side of the room, his canvas waited, still marred with the incomplete painting for Madarame that he now knew he would never finish.

  
It was nothing a little gesso couldn't fix, however.

  
His specialty had always been expressive landscapes, but dawn found him painting a figure in black leaning against a wall in a golden, cavernous hall, its features left indistinct. By the time his eyelids grew heavy, he could hear Madarame downstairs, preparing to leave for the day.

  
He had stayed out until nearly midnight. He had wept for what had felt like hours, and laughed aloud, too, and with the benefit of hindsight he knew that there was no way he had been as quiet as he had hoped. But Madarame either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared enough to check on him.

  
Once he heard the front door shut behind Madarame, Yusuke called Kosei himself. For the first time in his life, he pretended to be sick and stayed home from school. And after he removed his shoes from the entranceway to preserve the illusion that he was out for the day, lest Madarame return early, he slept well past noon and had pleasant dreams, his face striped with sunlight and shadow.

  
\----------

  
RYUJI: hey yusuke  
ANN: Yusukeeeee  
ANN: has he talked to you yet today? I usually see him in the group chat in the mornings  
RYUJI: nope. i sent him a bunch of messages already. no answer  
RYUJI: shit maybe his phone got taken away  
RYUJI: we were out real late last night  
ANN: ohohooo  
RYUJI: oh fuck off lol  
ANN: Yusuke if you get this later, let's go get burgers after school  
RYUJI: just us three though. not akira or the cat  
ANN: show me that painting you did of Ryuji last night, okay? ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Feed Yusuke agenda is well underway

**Author's Note:**

> I post Persona 5 fanart to Twitter here: https://twitter.com/araforreal
> 
> Come yell with me about P5!


End file.
